Where is the blue?

There is no fucking
in this country

The odd moted afternoon sherry
when it’s almost allowed
to slip a cardigan
is not enough

Grey trudging people
trading bile
growing to look like
their hateful dogs

Where is the blue?
Tasted yellow unravelling corners
and stamping shadows?
Ochre that sounds like it feels in your hand?

Give me hide lipped smiles beneath eyes that twinkle
punched through with random yoghurt teeth

Not toxic brown and grey or the slash of a dull vein and then the
pitter patter pitter patter
into stainless steel or porcelain

If you lift that broken glass to
another evening light you’ll see it is
webbed through

fibrous, caramel

something beyond

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