nothing is as blue as this blue
nothing real
no thing forever
I have no forevers in the category self
no foot in the door
under the borrowed places
burrowing my speakeasy way I find
speaking’s not easy
I listen wrong too, too interested
as if other people
were – but the ones I like
the smart ones know they are not
and I am exposed as a fraud
by my eager nod
my whistle my sallying forth
the way my head tilts up to catch
a drop of the day before the day ends
in degradation

which is a deeper color than any I’ve called

or than any color that has called me black