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  • Writer's pictureCirce


Photo by Ante Hamersmit

The graveyard is delicious

To the unsung colours of my soul

The graveyard is anything but haunted

The moss is all mellow and soothe

Balming to my inconsistent chaos

I am home

I am green

Now that I want to be it

You can see me wearing the viridescence

Becoming envy and youth

Becoming the reason behind many pretty rots

Under the graves I flit

In the instant that you set step

on this my sacred ground

And leave the metal whine

Of the Georgian wrought iron ajar

And crunch the grey flint

Under your brown hunter heels

In obvious oblivion

I am glad that colour I never become

Gray never became me.

I am shades of the shady

I am crimson now

For you well wear

Naked desires and vengeance

You carry your red loud

I always abhorred red in roses

And roses in cellophane

They say the soldiers from the great war

Were carried in all red

Red can be cold I tell you!

The red of the umbilical cord that

Snaps out a baby

I click my favourite littany



Irritated and angry

I mean to scare

But fail.

My monocular is mighty

I see you inside

We are predators alike

I see a love that has often lied

Burned and scarred


That lay tested and tried

Here under

Hence there's little wonder

Why you cry

Or why you sigh

So deep

She lies now.

And you try to cry

Your guilt away

As you leave,

You turn the skies blue

An intense azure

Kissing warm lilac deep

I feel that now

I feel it in my skin

I like pretending on and off

I like turning blue without a clue

And mock shock

After I do

I don't know why

You leave abandon behind

In different aquamarines

I run after you

To hand back what is yours

Things that are left behind in intent

Are usually the least of one's worries

Unfettering the burden

Brings release

Allows for a straight gait

I run as fast as I can

But you outdo me

You are human. I suppose.

I crunch and crackle over the

Yellow dead of maple

I catch the colour

The colour of there once was.

I have always loved yellow.

There used to be sunflowers

At the back of the graveyard

Each of them were in love

The sun gossiped in all hush hush

As i tried to turn a bit like them

He offered wisdom

Jaundice and decay were yellow too

I would rather want to be myself

But I could be everyone

And recreate myself in them

I could squeeze out thick.


Into their palettes

Into their

Chasms of disease

Or ride wide eyed with them to their pinnacles of glory

They were artful

And yet there was no art

I was to become a confused unpublished critic

Which would I be?

What would I do?

There is lizard wisdom

That flirts with beliefs of your kind

It is emerald they say

But it is taboo

We don't talk about that much

We respect the forbidden

By becoming it.

There is the usual tingle

The cute vapoury tickle

And makes me giggle

Skin deep

In my ingrained Swaroskis

How now

you find me not

Even when I am

I change ever

Sway to the legion you pet within


This derelict headstone.

Like a Jurassic residue

A demi monster

A Chromatosaur

A rainbow I have heard

Is born out of one such confusing love make

Of crystals and colour and vapour.

I have come to understand

Colour is chaos

Simply because they are a riot

They are innumerable

And beautiful

For pretty much the same reason

I click click away

Oh my beautiful self

Of crystallized incongruence.

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