People think I’m blue. My poems were blue but I’m purple. My
poems take you nowhere. I want you to read Woolf before reading
my poems. I’m a liar. My Poems are blue lies and I live purple. My
poems are claustrophobic and waiting for Godot who never comes.
My Poems are waiting and I’m waiting, and we do not have a place
to go. Please lend me your head and brains; let’s live there blue and
purple. I name my puppy Blue. My boyfriend calls me sky. He knows
nothing of purple and the long lucid dream I rent to write my poems.
You cannot wake me from sleep because I know I’m dreaming and
my poems are lucid dreams.