A thesis in three minutes.

i took the cmyk colour wheel and prayed that it held
the billion realities of neoliberalism in its cold, sweaty palm
for the duration of a metaphor.
big ask, i know.
it was the only framing device that
years of monotonous banging/
didactic lesson plans
allowed my mind to design

i’m creative. ok?
colour is art, so here’s the magenta,
and imagine she fucked with yellow
splashed red on the world map,
erupting, pus-filled and on fire.

(and turns out not everyone knows who cyan is
her genealogy a curious scar
that we have learnt to forget about
a danger looming too far in the distance
of our calendars
to turn to task)

and back to how red
contains multitudes
conceived in misconception
a silent companion to the way we’re trained to
walk on stilts — or hidden under cloaks —
depending on which of our parents’ land we move in

i wanted to breathe shades into this deadspace
look through the baby book and give
something name-like to the ugly;
baptise these awkward traumas
with a training pool of colours watch them splash amongst
their kind as they count the million steps
that stand between
spinning borders.