Bluebeard and his many wives.
The bloodied key to his sinister
secret of death creations, hooked
and hung in a charnel gallery. A steel gun's finish and the way
it feels in the palm of a hand.
Southern Comfort with a chaser
of blues sung on a street corner. Blue baby contamination.
Blue chip trick, the flip and the twirl.
Blue bead offering
to the mound gods of Japan. Windblown dusts of the dry season,
dispersed over the parched land
of a monsoon's absence, rise
in thin air veils of blue moon mist. Luminous cones of blue jets
ignite the top of a thundercloud
and flash into the ionosphere.
A flare path guiding an unknown craft until light-absorbing molecules
scatter blue into the sky
as blue-shifting Andromeda
heads our way.