Ying and Yang are Twins
I have been told
the darkness of suffocated
light, matters,
but it does not.
Injected left brain,
metaphors of wrong,
metaphors of violent colors.
Color can kill, and it does.
It dampens to whispers,
walks crookedly on unpaved paths,
clings to the valuable.
It suffocates the social.
Color does not war one another,
they joust themselves,
piercing components with untruths,
warping them from careless trots
to stammering, stuttering, stupidity.
I too, have been found guilty,
on the wrong side of trot.
Dark rewound the hood over
his head, the weight of his
side-to-side waltz.
He was only the bold.
Like a cowboy of too many
stand-offs.
I moved, stood off, not
on the sidewalk,
off, heels sinking in ground,
clutching as we’re known to do.
After all, I am blonde
and tightly encased in my
slinky sheath.
I thought, who doesn’t know
the story of OJ?
But then, who doesn’t know of Charles Manson?
Color can kill, and it does.
This is an improv from last week, re-drafted. Is this draft more clear? I plan to change the title and take the suggestions I was given last week but as of right now the title remains as a place holder. Any suggestions on how I might create more tension? Is more tension needed?
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