I am blue veins, I am red blood

Identity as Deepest Sentiments

I. Blue Veins

Blue light does not penetrate human tissue as deeply as red light does. As a result, veins that are close to the surface of the skin will be more likely to reflect blue light back to the eye.

--Children’s Museum of Indianapolis

Blue moon, I saw you standing alone. Top ribbon, oyster lip, zooming, cloud belly. 5 AM milk. Blue like the sea, yes, blue like lagoon. Like tide/river/Neptune/nubium/flood/pool/wombs. Blue the feeling unreserved, the feet: blood unflowing, blue-blooded lapel and the blue face of a baboon. Sky arranging itself triste-ly above our bowing heads, arching like thin flesh over the ribcage of the world. Blue point endless above, causing sparks and swimming-static-fish. You breathing in blue through your cold red lips. Sky inside you. Whale tail, listerine, salt-flats a whitish blue. Coprinellus disseminatus, caught in the throat, blue bucket coati is bathing in, soaping up its tail. Gift-giving, airplane. February an aqua blue, July-- cerulean. The burrows under my eyes, language of feathers, secrets of dragons, motions of sneeze. Blue when past 4pm in winter. So depressed everything hued in blue. Shell spiraling, a secret staircase to the tremolo of god. Universal empathy. A sword for the warrior of wishes, a bike named Cadillac, a dog named Ghost and a jay whose call is close. Blue plates and bowls, and pillows, cooling, cool already, cool for now. Blue blooming bruise after fist-face smash. The Age of Aquarius and its inherent shimmering gold peeping over edges. Larkspur, iris, passionflower, lupine. Something I wish for you. Chaos I dig for me. Bathtub, psychology, bathtub psychology, goat’s eye, lintel over smiling man, blue light wakening you… blue light help signal, bluetooth bumpin up your vybes. Cryin til the cows come home. Blue light, scanning water clean. Blue light sunrise. Blue light LEDs, inverted lizard on the rise. Thru blu waves comes future u. Blew blue tarp high up in trees. Clear blue 19-liter water jug you chug on shoulder up the highway. Restart. IKEA backdrop, blueberry, two feet deep in the ice, packet of babywipes, mountain and mop. Regret from this headache. Little shed with paint peeling. Shade under stubble-breached chin. Every time I’ve ever felt relief; at least, 90% of the time.

II. Red Blood

I can sense physiologically the proximity, nay, the very innards, of a human soul. I can smell it. My psychological antennae are responsive to every secret: to feel it, to lay hands on it. I can fathom the hidden filth at the rock-bottom of a person…

--Friedrich Nietzsche

Red is laughing loon fishing a bait hook from your cheek. Red, pennies and snake tongue and throat itch and gums. Supine spine, a little red book, a brick house, the brick. Winnie-the-Pooh’s T-shirt. Tomato sauce, harvest of anger, threat of lambastement, rug hems, speckled flesh, not being done, not being done. Red is a red tie and a red going and a red please excuse this. Red-letter day. A symphony. Noon like the rock budding, glowing, in this ear. The path of red dirt driving to your door. Sometimes the face swirling in its tides. Three minutes to mice-wild. Mars, fire, erotic ire, the deepest tone on a xylophone. Blood orange, blood-red moon. Euphoria winning out, as the rhythms scythe. Rinds of brutal eye and rigged vesicles; redcaps, Youtube play button, tongues of gods thudding like fruit on the steps. A few stitches. Byzantine sinews ending themselves all over. Scissors, carnival ride, sweet feeders gliding, stinging nettle. Doodles in your sides. Crowded letters and papercuts. Robin, roaming, canyon clay; part of the mosaic, monster of many. Hot flour flaming up clout toward curb. Sport, nascent glow of womb, red jasper, bush fox, inside of cymbal, fowl stuck on the fencepost. Building everything for your own. The paint under the Staples sign was peeling so beautifully. Red is to run as if being evicted, the core scratch-and-surging-in-you, clitoris of sycamore tree, bulbous lip bleeding, heavy spoon, cigarette eye, I have come with guns to the tower + station. Half-alive. Red, pipe and spice, clapping our hands down upon this all, the sunset, the biter-ant, cinnamon-gust, fever wench, magma, forest set aflame, pulling at the skin. The sprawling anxiety of a child, when barking dogs’ mouths flash. Reaching for my healing. Stress, and certainly abode, and stop and go and romance, and retching. Ornate the eyebrow, broiled the beef, back and forth the hallway, fretting, remembering. Apples and appetite. Swallows, coughing, swallowing our phlegm, rapping knuckles on the ceiling, hair wet, goji berry, folklore, folklore. Bleeding out and breathing in kidney beans. A velvet wall all feather-tailed, on-button, fury, bell pepper, wood floors. Something radical. Something, red.