Poem ~ The Taste of Purple is Made of Cheese

The night is blue; the day is gray.
Holding onto darker days.
Once again with the bloody ham!
Diamonds are for the fire?
Wind runs higher…
Hard flows the stones like water.

No more mirrors.
No more fears.

Dead is the twine,
of the midnight cherry.
Night forgot spark,
for the snow.
The ash breaks the iron;
cold stone pudding.
Singing to the gasses,
of broken bone glasses.