Today's poem is by Steve Davenport
The weight of color's a body floating
in the river, face down, arms spread like bloat,
or a thought hanging like a question mark
in a whiskey bottle at 3 AM.
What's the value of time without end?
What's a mind to do without a body
to fail it? Blue's the sound of measured time.
Gold's the color of another whiskey.
The weight of color at the end of time
is the gray waste of words. The end of color
is the end of time.
Copyright © 2013 Steve Davenport All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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