What Colour's the Future?

The future is blue. Squint hard
and it blackens: a bruise, sour plum,
at daylight-savings retreating,
its mouth in its hand. Is near. 
Is the refusal to harvest the root: 
carrot, parsnip, all troops deployed.
You know who I mean. The one
on the hunt, on the prowl, with blood 
on his hands. The fate of the future,
make no mistake, the favoured side
of the coin. Don't forget fear 
(o the future is here!): the rubble 
and gray of the twin match-
stick towers ashing down.
Is a gas —: burns orange, burns
white —: a year that combusts half-way, 
on the fourth of July. The future's 
a palate of colours too foreign 
to worry the tongue: cobalt, 
azure, the future is clear, 
the glass you hold up to the past 
to make it make sense. Make do. 
Make an attempt: put your 
change in the pot. The future 
is green, the green of a well, 
the o of its open, its poison, its entrance
to hell. Is road-kill, rodent, 
near-extinct reptile —: the future's 
a lizard that loses its tail. And
grows back a new one. Or doesn't. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

I do my best to give credit where credit is due. If you disagree with my use of your content, don't hesitate to email me and I will take it down as soon as possible.
Otherwise: Copyright © A Forever Thing