Vampire Zone Colors

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

How clear will colors be while you recall

Them when you lie within the satin cloth

Inside your coffin underground?  How small

Will scarlet be when shattered like a moth

In death?  The silk inside that box will fade

The fuschia’s purples into puce.  There black’s

Job is to turn all subtleties so shade

Becomes attenuated like a sax

Of brass turned into pewter.  Pink of lips

Will be forgotten so that it is still

Like long dead petals . . . and the pink of hips . . .

Well, it will be completely gone, lost, nil.

  Dark brown, or reddish-brown or black you’ll know

   Since maggot mouth parts chew away life’s glow.

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