my ocular privilege

while searching for a better brown
was thinking how it takes a coalescing mix of three specific
colours for the painter painting brown to know that none fix
brown alone and that a brown event cannot exist unless it
lives within the heterogeneity of its serendipitous mix of
becoming as a function of assemblage that constructs a
social tissue to connect it to a collective sense of
timeandplace that strokes the canvas of experience with
brown-ness not described by temporalities of past or future
tenses, not having-browned and never brown-about-to-be
but instead by intensities that perpetuate its browness-ness
into brownbeyondalltime and only then can it exude itself
beyond ideational incorporations and brown is only brown
when the skinofculture names it on the surface of a language
expressing brownasjustaword and therefore this is not a poem
per se but just a little ritournello, a liquid lovers' tune
one hums while half asleep to mark motifs and counterpoints
that seek a way back home by sailing signaturesofsounds that
carry forces not yet found in thought and notatall like
tapping brown into an operetta on my piano-out-of-tune

pacing a terrain means trailing signatures across a place
to brush the mark remaking melodiesofmemory into rhythms,
grown motifs that counterpoint particular interiorities
collaged across the space of circumstance, a glance that
signifies a styled state of keys connecting~reconnecting
moments prayed by fingers walking down the whispered
blackandwhite, candlelight hardpressed against the cheektocheek
confections of an umber-ochred grace, the lucid lace of
rewrites in refrain