from the raised view of my twin mattress

I see the blue static that stems from my fingertips to different household objects,

A small lightning that connects me to earth

To the wooden and brown things and things made of leather.

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For when you can’t know the sun

The dim, weak light only appears beautiful when there is so much darkness surrounding it.

Fluorescence draws the eye to anything other than the light.

 

We can get so used to it.

We can make ourselves so blind.

 

But I would rather have a warm soft glow

Than the harsh phosphorescence of cylindrical bulbs

Snapping on strings above and about my head,

And I’d certainly rather have that

Than nothing

At all.

 

-P.J.

Steel Blue

Watercolors drip down the white wall you’ve built between us

(at least you cared enough to make it beautiful)

And I only hope my cadence scribbled in Crayola will find it’s way to you.

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