Of desert wide surfaces
Too smooth for standing
Only perceiving
Was polished and molded
Into a crystal
Egg
Has no shell
Has no life force
Entwined inside
The doors have been smoothed shut by
Hyperactive fingers
Searching for a keyhole
Not knowing the clues inherent in
Stillness
The decibel range
Studied his mind
For a corner to inhabit
Finding nothing of surrealistic conscience
It must condemn
The premises unfit for
Living
Now he cannot learn the colors
Separate and untouched
Must sift answers through uncomposed question
Answers of desperation
Cornerlessly hiding, cowardly unaware
Of their own existence
Barricaded
Behind a display of weapons and ammunition
Designed to protect him from the colors
The colors that cover his eyes
To shut out the sun
The colors are too obvious
For safety of this new progress
This colorless progress
This flawless vacuous colorless
Egg
That sits now
Beaded with the perspiration
Of his hand
Unfeeling
His anger
Angular and veined
Lightning pinches specks of conceit
From blood brewed in industrial cauldrons
Steely paints he has chosen
From their respective rainbow apartments
Stained and alone
Each placid content
Within its own vibrations please him
The curious combination
Of soldiers
Tin with Wood
Plastic with Cardboard
Tickles his imagination to suppose
His supposings
To forbidding job games
Mix
Colors and combustion
Engine appears
Not
Phantom but prophetic tool
Succeeds in wrenching meanings from words
Twist
Progress into profit
enterprise
factory
institution
He reflects wide-eyed on the sun
The sun
Who has betrayed
Who pulled the colors from his fingertips
And they
Bloodied and bruised
Too tender now
With soul-pain to contain any longer
Each vibration alone
Infinitesimal droplet-floods
Puddle together
The prism of many sides
The endless wonder to secretive fingertips
Exploring
The vast mines of wisdom within
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