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skonen_bladesAnd these are the colours:
The reds come first, of course. A washing, curved wave of salted red-wine blood that is one lick of the ocean we all come from. A tsunami of raw life to drown in.
These are cool leather booths in a middle-century value diner, next to the jukebox and the roller skates. This is bobby sox and the prom in the back seat of a huge car underneath smeared lipstick the same shade as murder, a too-drunk night that starts a family of hard lessons.
This is the colour of a waterskiing wipeout into velvet. This is the colour that sharks can smell and that piranhas can’t resist. This is the neon sign flashing vacancy. It’s the new bike on Christmas.
These reds can be soft pajamas or leather hot pants. It’s a cross between an invitation, a warning, and a dare. Valentine throwing stars, sharpened on stones and thrown across the classroom.
It’s one shade of the sunset, giving sailors pleasure at night and fear in the morning. These reds are knuckles after a fight. These reds have problems with memory. The pre-scar lesson of blood. These reds are yours for a price.
These reds belong on the back of the eye. Spearheads dripping with finger paint. Santa’s wetsuit and half of the cards. We are wrapped around this colour.
These reds are the past tense of reading. Fuel for thoughts from an engine that times out our lives in spasms. Each clutch of the fist in our chests squeezing more red through the tubes to make us dance for love.
Red is the reason we’re here. Let’s paint the town.
tags
The reds come first, of course. A washing, curved wave of salted red-wine blood that is one lick of the ocean we all come from. A tsunami of raw life to drown in.
These are cool leather booths in a middle-century value diner, next to the jukebox and the roller skates. This is bobby sox and the prom in the back seat of a huge car underneath smeared lipstick the same shade as murder, a too-drunk night that starts a family of hard lessons.
This is the colour of a waterskiing wipeout into velvet. This is the colour that sharks can smell and that piranhas can’t resist. This is the neon sign flashing vacancy. It’s the new bike on Christmas.
These reds can be soft pajamas or leather hot pants. It’s a cross between an invitation, a warning, and a dare. Valentine throwing stars, sharpened on stones and thrown across the classroom.
It’s one shade of the sunset, giving sailors pleasure at night and fear in the morning. These reds are knuckles after a fight. These reds have problems with memory. The pre-scar lesson of blood. These reds are yours for a price.
These reds belong on the back of the eye. Spearheads dripping with finger paint. Santa’s wetsuit and half of the cards. We are wrapped around this colour.
These reds are the past tense of reading. Fuel for thoughts from an engine that times out our lives in spasms. Each clutch of the fist in our chests squeezing more red through the tubes to make us dance for love.
Red is the reason we’re here. Let’s paint the town.
tags