Wednesday 12 November 2008

An amalgamation of experience doesn't necessarily = truth.



Orange

I shield my eyes in the attic room from clouds
that are plastered with sun. I am in half-sleep
and just-yellow trees are meaningful but not yet
beautiful. I have lost perspective, turned
into the smallest amidst the experience of children.

Later, I feel naughty at the bar; drinking coffee;
at the metal-detector entrance of a county court;
waiting in an interview room painted
in the colours of the sea. Size is relative,

it seems to me, but I only know that now
after seeing what I did: at midnight,
a single orange underneath a parked car
in the rain; its orangeness lit by headlights
one way, by brake lights another.

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