Sacre Bleu with Small Acts of Love
Sun and shine stand in the way
In making this
A crisp, cold day
As only you can do
It hugs my heart from the inside out
Then let it go again
A symphony plays
The strings of my heart
Music to my eyes — at the corner of harmony and melody.
when you think blue — when you say blue —
that you are talking about the same blue as anyone else?
You cannot get a grip on blue.
Blue is the sky, the sea, a god’s eye, a devil’s tail,
a birth, a strangulation, a virgin’s cloak, a monkey’s ass.
It’s a butterfly, a bird, a spicy joke, the saddest song, the brightest day.
Blue is sly, slick, it slides into the room sideways, a slippery trickster.
This is a story about the color blue, and like blue, there’s nothing true about it. Blue is beauty, not truth. ‘True blue’ is a ruse, a rhyme; it’s there, then it’s not. Blue is a deeply sneaky color. ~Sacré bleu
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.