All Veins are Blue Except in the Rockies

In aggravation when the quick chirp of the sunset birds skips across space like flat stones

In elation when the sun, before it is rosy, blinds my brown eyes.

But such sun grows in dirt and turns to sunflowers.

Toads, poison dart frogs, centuries of longing and pain are disguised by nature.

Has it been proven that a child’s laughter is toxic as the dart frog?

Would you prefer blood to be blue? It may mean less if it pours out as slush instead of scalding

burning your skin to skeleton and smoking tobacco with the wooden floor.

Would you rather be frozen and watch?

In my dreams I watch, my eyes glued shut even in the self-directed cinema of my imagination

Speak without success, lips sewn shut

Listen underwater as the dregs and, and, catch echos.

This is how you catch chaos: let it slide between your fingers like a garden snake.