I now write into a yellow colored paper
A mass of yellow of  an electric sheet
Of many crawling letters,coming to life
As my another night moves on to  decay
Spurred on by a fading cricket's noise.

A blind poet wrote yellow before his dark
Who wanted to remember the last world
As a yellow world that stood out in  fog.
A fog can only be gray like a frog visible
Only by its leap across the rain puddle.
A yellow sun that stands out in the dark
Stays in eyes as before they are closed.

Words are little frogs in this yellow sheet
Visible only by sudden jerky movements
Across long stretches of accruing meaning.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s