I dream in blue
I see proteins and flesh and bodies.
I see crazy things.
People running and shooting and radiating and I’m reminded of my Crayola confessions.
Why would someone kill another over a crayon?
Primo Levy had his elements.
I tried that. I wrote about elements. I write about crayons.
I have these images before I fall asleep. Right when the dreams settle in.
Sometimes before I dream, I color instead.
Those are the thoughts you can control, more than you can control a dream, but thoughts, still a bit wild, not quite wanting to be tamed.
These thoughts, they fold over, they reveal misplaced memories under wrinkles in the fabric of time, and they melt in somber colors—monochromatic pigments.
Pigments or Prions?
Pigments or proteins?
I feel proteins folding. Misplaced proteins. That’s a disease.
Where was the mad cow?
Who has Kuru?
Certain thoughts can be drawn,
colored in so many shades of blue.