The Poetry of
Jack Scott

Color Drain

The color drain last night
bled the flavor from my dreams,
reduced that universe
to shades of white and black,
added weight, then took it back
most chaotically.

Wandering in the blindness
of my loss of rainbow
as an orphaned next of kin,
I found the world an X-rayed place,
fleshless, without beauty
where it should have been.

Dawn arose without a spectrum,
the light came up without it,
and everything was gray.
Looking for a rose or apple,
I found only blackboard
with its chalky dust.

My dreams are missing.
Whose am I having?
I wish they’d tell me
what they want from me
for the ransom
of my own kaleidoscope.


353 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.