pluck purple feathers
from a brown bird: use its blood to write letters
to one who thinks of her – to no one.
shoot green arrows
at the red apples of my father’s eyes. he doesn’t care though,
don’t worry just
divide in twain – body & soul;
take one with you: i don’t know which, houses antipathy.
form a rainbow from white light
from black light
create a girl’s face,
with hands reaching out from the hollow of her father’s eye socket.
you can’t paint her body, now.
her body repels colours, her mind’s trapped in someone else’s head.
somewhere you don’t want to know.