Mongrel Colour
How
odd, the purity of white.
The
creamy porcelain saucer
the
virgin bride.
Black
ink
messily
penned
on
a blank absorbent sheet,
neutral,
mute, serene
in
its acceptance.
The
wedding bed, deflowered;
stained
red
sluiced
clean.
Because
it's a mongrel colour
of
all visible light;
difference
subsumed
in
inexplicable white.
Combining
pigment
you
get brown, drab, dead.
But
light is cleansed
of
all impurity,
vaulting
through the universe
to
its ultimate edge,
pushing-out
against
the
black abyss.
