A blue coat is guided guided away, guided and guided away, that is the particular color that is used for that length and not any width not even more than a shadow.

–Gertrude Stein

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The past rang the present-future on the last land line //       A nerve answered and unwound its helix 

cord the length of a single question dopplered-dopplered in the body of a poet //  The rest mothed 

to this phonic relic as if to stare into the center of a blue-blue fire //  Terror reflected in the flicker

hissed Mirror-Mirror //  An oracle in the phone barked Fuck you, Bitch! and hung up //  The poet 

smiled and foraged the line as a dial tone pierced ellipses on loop into her earlobe //  She listened 

for the float of her blue-blue coat in the blue-blue moments between //         This is where the line 


began to guide the guide //   I wish the guide would show me how to find what is blue in the Blue



Moon //    Then I would have had an answer from the orb for my blue-blue tears on this blue-blue 




day //   A poem lost its poet today //   It happened when the first six lines of the poem highlighted 





in the blue-blue by a quick click then stroke Command-Shift-Scroll //    This was the poet’s blue-






blue grasp on the poem before a slip-slip of hands and her long fall down the line //    The poem’s        







blue-blue eyes watched their poet taken by Cronos in the shape of a color wheel cycling—frozen








then cycling to eternity // What a way to die, right? // But don’t worry, dear reader //     The poem 









rewrote their poet from memory, only better this time // Her name is Wei-Wendy Way-Windy and










her blue-blue coat is out there somewhere____________________________________________