Poetry by John Grey
How You Lost Your Mind but Gained a Color or Two
Your holodeck is set to rainbow.
You click on the kaleidoscope function.
Colors come at you in all directions,
each brighter than the one before,
hues mating to form new shades –
all impossible, especially when
you download the landscape function –
magenta hills, silver rivers,
beige clouds adrift in orange skies.
Next up, buildings – primrose towers,
swirling psychedelic house-frames.
And then the ones that inhabit them –
even the ugly made beautiful
by a dash of cerulean, a splotch of ruby.
And the loveliest parade before you
on a chromatic catwalk,
fine teal skin, indigo shapes,
unrestrained seductive amaranthine strut.
It’s all too much.
You shut down but your eyes won’t let go.
Your mind refuses to acknowledge
nature’s God-given dyes.
You stumble about, seeing nothing, imagining everything.
Like some ancient hippy,
flashbacks are all the present has to offer you.
You’re a holodeck.
As exclusive as madness.