I DON'T HAVE A GLANCE
My happenstance of pulchritude; the
purple on the wedge, the blue light
off the vase, the prism that the window
makes. I never know. I never know.
Where these things come from? The
colors and the light, I suppose do
originate somewhere where there's
an essence to be had. Is that the
God we keep a mention of?
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