Crimson Mind
he finds himself wishing he were inside
an indigo cavern in a dense rain forest,
wearing violet sunglasses at 2 a.m.,
just forgetting anything and everything
but for the throbbing inside his chest,
the crooning inside his drowsy head,
in his own crimson mind;
he cannot quite conjure up his own
setting for his own point of view;
cannot quite find his own metaphors
for his own recurrent, nagging needs;
a dark-blue fog swirls slow, dimming
the sun, not the glow of her absence,
in his own crimson mind.
|