Bruises Lit Uncover Everything

Bruises Lit Uncover Everything (BLUE)

Where the sea traces the sky,

wrapped

in endless horizons.

A hue mystical,

difficult to capture,

but ever-present.

Van Gogh. Glass of Italy.

Painted walls and flowers.

Berries smoothed in a morning drink.

Light that reflects the hours.

Novelty soda. Candied rocks.

America. Frozen.

/ Stop.

Warmest flame.

Rockets in July by twilight.

/ Cobra. Crackle, pop.

Denim and dreams.

“No Input” on TV.

/ Nothing to watch.

The Game of LIFE,

90s Genie,

ballpoint pens,

notebooks and journals.

How you reflect

helps us get to Green

and the color Purple.

/ (Prince’s Kiss is still in need.

But, it’s okay. Trust. Believe.)

/ Bruises lit uncover everything.

From subtle to flashy,

Fashion judged you’re

Red’s perfect partner.

But I leave that up to you.

/ Tell me, though,

why do I have a thing for

uniforms that look like

NY You know who?

Blessed lust under eternity.

/ Blue, never the same.

Bruises lit uncover everything.

/ Blue, speaks my name.

Nico was born

on the journey from Tomobe

to Tokyo.

Alter-ego of the night.

Baptized in neon.

Genesis, the first site.

Fun times and costumes,

naps in trains and parks.

There, we found freedom.

Source of love’s spark.

Giddily I dragged them back

to my new life

in the Big Smoke.

Turned myself upside down.

Hair dye gone. “Good boy”.

OK job.

Started off broke.

Traded in colors, tees and jeans

for discount dress shirts, shoes

and slacks.

Cubicle toil. Casual love.

Life suspended in cocktails

of gin and curacao.

Buried deep was Nico.

And freedom.

Without them I felt a lack.

What I was doing at this stage

was to buy my peace.

And to climb the rungs

of the steps made by Kings.

/ Bruises lit uncover everything.

“Declare independence.”

Tattooed flesh.

Symbols. Codes. Reminders

on my body’s crest.

/ Speaks my name.

Nico. Lost.

I searched within

and somehow found them

somewhere in between

mezcal’s home and French Canada.

/ Blessed.

Tidied always with the Immaculate

Collection.

Express what’s inside of you.

/ Bruises lit.

Tread among the holy.

Ghost hue. Son’s fame.

No more tip toes in the Dark.

/ Lust. Lit.

Smoke rings, Rona gloves,

bathroom tile.

Window spray. Let in light.

/ Can you see me yet?

Growing up,

people always said

to clean up, “Act right"

and take what you can get.

I did. I tried.

But still, I couldn’t resist:

synched Beach Boy dances

in the pool as a kid,

adolescent dips

in Oceanus cream,

and a college haze

getting lost in earthly bliss.

From day one, 1983,

couldn’t fit in.

Too many shades to be.

Days, months, years

I was again reborn.

/ Never the same.

No. Just me.

Closets too small to hold

all they must contain.

Too many layers. Peel.

/ Discard the color Shame.

On this island city

of red brick, pocked streets of gray,

and a Royal hill, called a mount,

I’ve come to recoup

my soul, Nico’s name.

Regal tints.

Candy cotton, hospital sheets,

mold and medical masks.

The inside of Notre-Dame

Joni Mitchell’s best,

Jays, herons and gym mats.

/ Blessed and bruised.

Produce bound by rubber.

Love-in-a-mist.

Schtroumpfs.

Summer’s cloudless days.

Blue, you’re everywhere,

And, like me.

Never quite the same.

Soft for Aquarian eyes.

Got a Mercury mood,

Venus might.

Taurus, my Sun,

ruled by the throat.

Truth takes flight.

Tone and timber,

ruled by Blues.

/ Say, Universe.

Guess

which path I’ll choose.