May 6, 2009 0
Blue Prose
by Carol Frith First Published Tule Review
Lawn chairs like lateral road maps--
the grass scans blue. I won't go out
today. Bent light. Light like water spots.
Nobody walks here anymore: three apricot
trees and a peach. The leaves fill with
blue, separate into blank space.
Now, a man in blue grasses sits down on the
lateral slats. Answers turn over in the
middle distance. Think of the way
a blue vein of light remembers itself.
The man in blue glasses frowns
in his lawn chair. He listens to me.
I have a baker's dozen of blue words
to offer: azure, ...