Math is blue glass.
Novels are pink glass.
Non-fiction is purple glass.
Musicians wear psychadelic colors when they play.
News reporting is red glass.
Introspection is green glass.
Judicials have gray eyes.
because of their gray tinted glasses.
The famous sometimes wear black sunglasses
once they are famous.
Churchgoers see pious and dirty brown.
Children invariably have half-formed eyes
that haven't come out of where they were first,
but that is nice I think. Then they pick up lenses
at the grocery store and the bank
in paper bags from old homeless men who eye them funnily
through Scotch tape frames of their own.
And noone can tell exactly
why the novelists say things are pink.
The mathmaticians start- and stare-
what is this pink? I used to see pink
when I was a child.
Obviously you are a child. Pink does not exist-
the world is most defnitely blue.
This poem is clear glass:
I took a beach walk to find it
polished by water and sharp granules of sand
instead of by grammar books and laser machines and economies-
It used to be the side of a wine bottle
now I hold it up to my eye
and see.
Haven't you ever wondered why poems
could tell all the colors?
-Citron
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