aug 22

cai guo-qiang(cai guo chang)

I hum an off-key note on Putnam St and the sky is a blue that doesn’t have a name and calling it blue isn’t right because even though it’s summer it has the white of anticipatory snow, it has the yellow of hot California fields, it has this purple that I only saw once when I was a child when I walked with Grandpa to the post store, a post office that sold pastries in Oxford and outside there were foxgloves –or were they merriweathers or kisses of a nun or a flower that had such a name- and they were a lavender purple infused with the yellow of lust and saffron of my mother’s rice and that’s the color now but it’s turning black and once it’s black there won’t be stars because I live in New York but there will be planes on their way to JFK and they’ll jitter red and white on the sky, planes full of people sad and hungry and happy and crying at romantic comedies and I live under them and I’m hungry and the sky is getting dark but tomorrow I’ll wake up when the sun comes up because my body can’t help it and when I wake up my humming will be in tune, maybe, maybe just once I’ll hit that nice G, that G chord I strummed, you strummed, he strummed on a stage with fat people clapping, applauding, eating hotdogs, smoking menthol, thinking I want to go ask her to dance.Romualdas Pozherskis( romualdas pozherskis)

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