Tinged

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GOD among us, as Hyperion
throned above the high echelon
of “so pray tell me
who are you?”

forever tangled in perimeter blue? or
an off-white pixel in shadow hue? or
a spectrum Man trapped in a prism cell? or
a portrait pieced into a rubric cube?

there is science and agenda
for all cyans and magentas

but in the end,
please:

don’t include me in your elevator scheme
I’d rather stand my ground and florid dream

on the cliffs of Minnewaska,
or some forgotten migrant trail
or on the towpaths along foothills
that once passed ships by sail

and I will eat my plums in the garden
and beat my drums in the far den

and if this isn’t normal
then who?


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