blue
Empty is blue on his leather
forearm, where a hula girl
sways under coarse, yellowed hair,
blurred and missing her youth.
Empty is white, lined and lacking
for phrase, promises if she stays,
raised in spots, braille for words
second-thoughted away.
Empty is red, power-tied,
commerce-bred with a parchment
like dad's, back claps at the club
and dimmed dreams of the stage.
Empty's the blush of her cheek
in the dark with no answering spark,
neither fondness nor hate, it is
fullness' fate.
poetry | prose and stuff | pictures | grammar | recommendations | rants | links | what's new | FAQ | email me
word arrangement on this page © April Palleria, 2003