I have an abstract work of art for submission
It’s called: “Life, Considered, in Clarifying Successions”
I think it’s worth at least the price of eggs
Though it’s just a smear of blues, pinks, and reds

Words are splotchier than hard numbers
Our borders more soft-hued, more abstract; humbler
Like a smear of perceptions hardening into sinkholes inside
As a child, I felt orange all the time

Prayin’ for freedom
Not even anything
I felt ready to handle

Reliant was I on the world for stimulation
Red was my debasemеnt’s self-recognition
What traumas not being libеrty could land me
Blue’s how I float out of red, prayin’ for wisdom

Prayin’ for wisdom
Not even anything
I feel ready to handle

Detached into smears of watery haziness
I wonder, if you could quantify into matrices
A middle emotion betwen oppression and red
Is it actually pink? Or is that just my head?
Is the middle color numeric
Or what my perception says?
I don’t know who to trust
It’s like the ending to that stupid dress
Anyway, “Life, Considered, in Clarifying Successions”
Come on; what’s the rate of two eggs in the mornin’?

I’ll let it go for the price of breakfast