Titles Deceive, But Substance Achieves Poem by Brian Mattern

Type a type of flowing form,
meanings full of something warm.
Black and white show on the screen,
but can I write the color green?
I could describe an overly,
enthusiastic snake.
Or maybe a teenager leaf, not yet ready,
for the pallbearer's rake.
Would you know what I call yellow?
In a crowded street, it's all that is mellow.
It's the alley-cat king, atop it's trashcan throne.
It's the fresh graffiti, source unknown.
Is it worth all of your consumer distractions,
to miss out on the colors, of untapped interactions?

The negro jazz man, playing 'Come Together'
in the subway as we sing-a-long,
to avoid what was dark and frigid November weather.
He accepted a large bag of chips, for donation,
and said 'you must be purple, just like me,
cause I sure as hell don't see no Caucasian.'

'Underneath' I realized that night,
is our defining color, beyond visual sight.
The force that guides what you do on this plane (of existence)
shows, when you peel back your skin,
and loosen the tight grip on your brain.

What then, is for sure?
Well I know only my path.
Maybe you need to find the wandering jazz man,
or maybe just ponder a crowded street.