Blue or green

the greenish chants sing
and what they sing is merely a singular orchid
over a singular valley
under a circular darkness that widens the horizon
until nonsense

the greenish touch and the greenish flavor
the greeniest you've ever greened
and the smallest grin
all of them shout consciently while holding tight some reason

Grinding the gruesome gray into the greatest gratefulness
Gorgeous was the glory that you simply couldn't see


Is that you? On the corner of the cycle?
Listening to jazz only to drown yourself in worries?
Is that you?
Are you the one who's thinking why he always picks the blue?
Why does he always prefer to be blue, to live blue, to breathe the blueness of his babbling bestiality?

Save your grief. You haven't done anything. You can't give up on her. She's the orchid. The one that whispers calmfully.

And she's all. And she's green.
And she's not to blame, she's just showed up to live.

Let the jazz play
let it be, let it sound
That will only last for as long as your brains have vanished
and you're up again
and you feel mugged and unraveled

It's her green and not yours
it's her numbness and her quiet

You're only to comply
and to admit
and to love her, tremendously enough,
until you're quiet.