Here is some ineluctable modality of the visible

How is it that a colour can be like food? But it is: thick blue chalk on yellow-grey wall-stone stained with lichen. The colour cools and fires all at once some fever of the eye. You could stare and stare and never get enough of it.

Tangerine rhododendron flaring fifty throats into which you are compelled to drop your gaze. The longer you look the more the colour fills your skull like a liquor; and the the sun drops and the whole wide air is suffused with the same citric glow. And the sun drinks from the brim of your skull and is drunk.

You turn a corner and suddenly you're wading up to your shoulders in an iris river, those great bearded alien irises of a purple so intense that it's sentient -- look long enough and you'll witness it rise through pulsating signal to first furtive reference to full conscious thought and then past that into lucid dreaming and the fluid mechanics of the soul.

The density of it, the way it yields and yields in powdery depths yet is never fathomed.


I'm incredibly overstimulated from a long workday right now, but the city has decided it's high summer in May & won't be refused.