andres talks to the city (II)
by Eli Skipp
behind his eyes, he hears color. he told her, every pitch has its own shade and hue.
an air raid siren, for instance, has colors i do not like: a light yellow, and after,
a deeper green. he says that the image associated with that sound, a sound he
desperately wishes to enjoy, adds an edge to it that ruins it for him. a lot of
songs are ruined by poor colors.
but he says to her, he says, when you moan and sigh it's beautiful. with your mouth
open, the higher tones, they are piercing white, and after, less surprised, with your
mouth closed, they come out blue. he tells her it reminds him of a part of downtown
Chicago he used to visit when he was little, when it was snowing. that everytime he
considers her bed, her room, he is filled with a pleasant chill.
(he lives in the bible-belt south where it never snows, or in Los Angeles, and at the
most, he sees her once every three years --
he says its crazy to feel so crazy entwined with memories, the only times when nothing
is lurking like a horrid thing begging him, begging him.)
Author's Note: "Andres talks the city."
the letter h for me is blue.
Posted on 10/04/2007
Copyright © 2019 Eli Skipp
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Joe Cramer on 10/04/07 at 05:59 PM|
|Posted by Coleman Demiurge on 10/05/07 at 06:18 AM|
The letter H for me is more of a yellowish-orange; I don't know why. Darker blues are suppose to be the most depressing colors. I like blue personally, then again I also seem to be immune to depression. Anyway, really great poem/prose. Andres Talks to the City is still my favorite of yours, and this one holds very well with it. The second section here I especially liked, particularly the latter half about snowy downtown Chicago - most poignant... An excellent work; well done indeed!