Poem for being stuck

Glue Poem

Is there a color for being stuck?

The navy wind sucked out of you.

Baby blue? Pale?

Empty?

 

You don’t remember how it hued

before you were stuck.

Something festive,

you imagine.

Chartreuse,

tamale red,

fuchsia,

but never empty.

 

You don’t remember when it happened.

The sticking,

that is.

Did it crackle, popcorn yellow?

Or honey, sapping slowly?

 

Perhaps it was always there.

Simmering, black

Feed me.

Kerosene.

Fuel.

Fuel me empty.

 

When they cling

caramel brew,

show them

you’re not empty.

Wheat.

Barley.

Rye.

Carbs.

Whole grains!

Can’t look empty.

 

Stuck might be pink.

Nothing real ever is.

It’s a girl!

Carvel sprinkles,

cotton candy.

Sugar.

I can’t.

 

They can tell

that she,

that I?

Must be empty.

 

Sometimes it hides,

The sticking.

It’s green.

Golden green.

You’re safe.

Boundless feed,

‘till full,

feed it empty.

 

You don’t always feel it,

The sticking.

It weathers,

and primes.

You think all your friends

Maybe they’re stuck too.

Different stuck.

 

We all.

A Rainbow

of stuck.

 

 

Maybe that’s just the game:

who appears

the least stuck.

The Aquas,

the Cyanes,

they seem.

They’re not stuck.

 

Would we know?

If they were?

Do they know

when I fade?

If we sponged all our shades

would there be color

to see?

Or just one,

giant,

Stuck?

 

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