Into The Woods Poem by Opal Day

This poem is about telling secrets to strangers. Probably.

The sky is blue.
No, it’s not.
It is any color but blue.
It is more important that the sky is vibrating.
When I look with closed eyes
it flashes a non-existent word.

I can’t decide.
What right have I if nothing’s left?
What have I left if all is write?
Is it so wrong
to refrain from fabricating a fairy-tale term
that will never be a hit
when pasted after “define: ”?
Still (but never!) at the core of everything
I face this oscillation of opposites
“Is it always ‘or’, is it never ‘and’? ”
I cannot see nor say.

How should I call this center
that refuses
in
be
tween
If statement flaws intention
is satisfaction redshhgreen?
Either nothing I can’t find,
Or all that can find me,
Shameless, nameless dark
defines what I can see.

So with this newfound reason,
I will permit myself
to name this thing in pieces.
I will hide it carefully.
So I may know of it’s presence
but you will never be sure.

I will draw you no treasure map;
I will leave no sugared trail in my wake.
This is no common chain of charms.
It eluded the letter ‘C’ long ago
You can never catch up.
it has already hanged.