Spectrum

It's just me, completely different and still the same, like a growing
Fingerprint. The swirls and curling curlicues here in the end of my
Index are having their streets widened. If you like, we can walk up
And down some of the avenues without a time in our heads, just you
And me, willy-nilly, bug-eyed by the landscape of flesh here on the
Palp of my trembling finger. I'd like you to know that at the end
Of this French curve we're climbing now is a place called Cool
Inside, where you can listen to colors, and if you want to stay with
Me and have no place better to be, we'll stop in. It's always open

All you need to get in is an open eye. See? There's Red, wearing a

Blush of rust, coming infant up, wearing pride all over him. Sort
Of looks like Monday, doesn't he? There is proud Red's neighbor
Covetous Orange, curving in circles, wearing the shape of Tuesday
See the dancing over there? Little splotches and zigzags? That's
Lustful Yellow. And slithering softly with S's is angry Green, who
Has a look of Thursday. Gluttonous Blue, with devouring arms, amoeba-
Like. And bursting apart, breaking into pieces, comes envious Indigo
Coming together only to go apart again, irregular
And there is slothful Violet, awkward, slow-
Motion. Aren't you glad you came? Aren't you?