I didn't know blue could burn

I’ve been wandering around places like the ocean's floor

where you can see everything

and say nothing.

Out here

things slip out of sight.

People become blank street signs

pointing nowhere.

Puppies become reward posters

no one reads.

Blue children cry into cheap wine.

There’s a crazy girl that lives in Texas.

She talks fire like hells we dream

laughing with a sound that forgets all.

Even when she's quiet her eyes are loud

like storms under the sea.

but she is a blue child.

She looks like a slow growing flower 

clinging to shade 

hiding among weeds 

praying for rain.

In fluorescent dusted cold I met her

standing under mad machinery both

running life by the hour.

A match dragging across clear sky

as I walked in.

An empty parking lot, 3:00 AM

clumsy curses fall to the concrete

soundless

wind moving leaves 

in an old memory.

Rage spends her tears on silence 

sits on her chest

daring her to move.

Another empty parking lot, 3:00 AM. 

Sounds of highways at dusk

run through me at all times

cold wind from sunken cities.

I sit thinking of Eden

wondering about forever.

Violent life under her stillness 

dulls the droning 

warms frigid pavement and 

calls out to the sleeper

in me.

There she goes with that 

funny walk 

easy smile

showing no sign 

no trace

unless you look close,

leaving marks in your mind

like footsteps

on the moon.

I sit here now with my

blue soul

out

and ask 

how?

In a way I never have.

“Silly boy” she says,

No one knows for sure.

I love you anyway I reply

“Silly baby”

I’m passing this way

and she the other.

Strikes the match

at the end of it’s arc.

All is blue

and the world will not

be quiet.

Crazy girl.

Author's Note

I appreciate any thoughts

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

in 10th stanza, last line I read as "end of its arc"---
but overall, yes, blue, ordinarily thought of or matched with cold, turning blue, freezing...but not this blue child...she is fiery....her eyes are like those lost puppy posters that want to be read, that demand to be read.
She feels rage and will not stay quiet, not stay in the background, not stay without.
very strong poetry, especially loved the first stanza.
j.

[Noah Sanford]

Ah I see.
You got the heart of it. I was worried I was meandering too much. Thank you.