
Green to the Spleen
Haemorrhage haemoglobin emerald duck green, the thickness, dependent upon the scenery.
Too cool and I’m viscous, acidic bile hues. In-tropics, as water, more liquid in ruler, a macro lobe. Aqua marine plumage pour-out. I’m peacock (you said), the thought previously, never exits my head, (ta)...
Parasoles plumage call-out, hypnotised by the iridescent eyes Turquoise’s fallen. Viridian tinge, to my skin coat, reptilian, to contrast my hazard eye glare of vermilion.
The cuticle chartreuse, knotted seaweed Haystack, Mr Dye can, has, I believe :(. I raise a single eyebrow and giggled outside his class. Unable to regain control of my land-lock. Caught as if air was an enemy, putrid, distraction, clover coloured run away-thinker. Blinkered reliquaries.
I’m mellowed in evenings, scolding mint tea, steeped in honey sweet, glacial contrasting tones of soft-spleen. More aroma misnomer than flavour forthright. Warm wafted purportedly disguises trite. Lushes me to calmer night vision seeing. Forgotten raw plight. It always remains in the meat though. Recordings that variegated with time.
Pine slumber bunker, queenie, pistachio ice cream seamer, flake and cornet. 99 thrills. Versatility prudishly grew straighter, berated buy-er. Teal teaming, zealous, abounding sprang grazer, refresher barrista immersed arsenic eraser.
In climates above random, thirty seven degrees, my blood runs thinner than matter can sieve. Pondered on the veins of mammalian friends, their capillary traction seen like ants crammed into straws. Blacker than pitch. Mine runs in rivulets, lime limerick trickles. Tempting the temperature out of my core. Little by little towards home, I freeze more.
The deepest of bottle green, squinting under the seas, the northern sunshine energy, rattling atoms, excitable tease. Moss pillows, the softest head rest in the woodlands, fern coloured nesting place, welcome my rest wild in, I love being out.
I guess, in synopsis, I really love green, I forage in places, where it’s all that is seen. In so many ways. Wood, submerged, cage, rage. In the viewers Synesthesia, aura naturally, unnatural.
About the Creator
Paul Beckett
I’m a writer, horologist & joy filled explorer. Reality to me is plastic. I’m fascinated with time, quantum physics, analogue and fashion.
My writings at least 69% autobiographical, often 99%
Fav:Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams- S.Plath




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