A moment in orange
And a tshirt in green.
A moment of violence
In old fibrous sheen,
And a hour or two
Spent in black and in white
No delineation
Twixt wrong and alright.
No smell of old books
And no sound of a dove.
No actions of hate here
No budding of love.
Let bygones be
And sleeping dogs lie.
Cold iron trees
Between you and I.
I slip away
In mascara all black
And leave a faint glow
Of not once coming back.
So have your moment
In pale, dusty gray,
And I, in my vibrance
Will thus rush away.
postscript
...