blue might mean

everything you ever Knew,

to be of that color.

But,

Like,

what do I know?

Tell me, world:

Is my blue your blue?

Then you do,

tell me, that is:

“My blue is my blue,

Your blue is your blue.

There is some overlap, and

Let’s leave loss of meaning out

And not make people bored with blue;

Bluebitty blue blue beautiful hue too”

“fuck you, world.

Retract.

I love you.”

The word is blue, the world is blue

But words and worlds are representations,

abstractions

 (Ordered permutations of letters with:

 a rule here,

 a rule there;

Arbitrarily assigned, defined

using other…Sounds…)

Blue is a word.

Blue is a world.

What is blue?

What is you?

“Arbitrary de(-scription,

-piction)”

Who are you? (Hoo, hoo…)

Who is blue?

“Bad answers come from(?):

bad questions.”

Why are you blue?

Why are you you?

“Now we are making progress,

It’s a process.”

Why are you?

Why is blue?

“Exactly.”

Evo-(b)lu(e)-tion, baby.

it’s intuitive to the human brain,

invoking the action of eyes ‘seeing’ as their sense

(Lens focuses light towards retina,

 where photoreceptors are so excited to find their photon friends in their correct color cones, and instantly send the sensational news through neural networks as an electrical signal for processing and imaging)

Light

(permutations of photon particles doing the wave, so-to-speak, and if blue then on the short end but visible, moving at the speed of, well, light, or say c)

Why do we see (c)?

“How much time do we have?”

What is time?

“Not again…”

Ah, why is time?

“Flow, change, progress…”

Oh, my.

 what might 1c, optimistically?:

Looking up at the sky,

Why, it’s blue! Why is it blue?

(Why, always why with you…)

A scattering comes across the sky…

Note same scattering in a blue eye.

And if the sky is blue that day,

If pollution isn’t in the way,

There’s no blue like the ocean.

Blue on blue, blue in blue, blue of blue…

Meeting at the horizon.

You’re makin’ my dreams come blue…

Or if the day chooses to be gray,

Clouds,

not content with fractal boarders providing limfinite complexity,

overlap to darken the sky,

raining on our blue parade.

Bastards.

On those gray daze,

blue is a collar,

 fuck color:

blue is the name of the train line some sorry sucka takes to work every morning,

and, (worse?), the converse

(from work, to some (un)affordable apartment, nothing like a home…

Nothing like Home)

Or the color of the tie seen on a ley line down the boss’ beer belly.

The blues.

Same as it ever was.

At this not-home,

To partners in misery,

Or to misery’s offspring,

blue might be a bruise:

Alcohol’s common collateral damage.

At its worst, blue is the glint of cold steel flashed before entry into a belly:

hara-kiri.

 Or blue smoke from a barrel

Real and rising,

Up, up, into that bluest sky…

(Don’t look down:

there, in the outpouring blood:

a tinge of what?)

At its best blue is the beginning of life, home can be up high if we

Stay grounded

Cause (effect) to

You

Blue is