Once he was addicted to blue.
Life was ocean, lakes, and I-miss-you.Three chords of dissonance & the color
of mountains furthest back
in a landscape view. Then
came green, as in the great
conifer forests of the Western Hemisphere.
As in lettuce and spinach and lush,
long poems. As in American football
fields where he left too many hours,
too much salty sweat. As in gardens he
planted, doted on, weeded, watched
and watched. And the car, sometimes
filled with women's perfume
and voluptuous presence. Camaro,
the petrol beast was called, silver-green,
and in one of those black bucket-seats,
a wild, witchy woman with green eyes
once sat. Once sat and smiled. And was.
Then wasn't. Dead. And every so often,
blue, he thinks I-miss-you, addicted to blue.
hans ostrom 2023
