Monday, February 5, 2024



The truth is what we make of it

Power doesn't make the sky seem blue

It simply is, take it or leave it.

Oceans have nothing to do with it

And the physicist's insistence on

Sunlight scatterings is largely irrelevant

The color blind see another kind of blue

Which is just as true

As the one we perceive

But deceivers 

Never look up.

They sit in rooms 

Hunched over desks

Yellowed by candlelight

Writing blue, blue, blue, blue

In massive tomes 

That get translated

Into dozens of languages

Because once the truth

Is reduced to a word

The rest of the world

Demands a foreign equivalent


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