mackerel sky

They say it’s not black and white

but grey
I want that grey instead of white-hot
instead of black as dead earth: my boy's seizures colored both
And I have been looking for a long time
I am searching for grey that is smooth river stone
mackerel sky
Even the pure white of soft wind would do
I hide the black
—inside—
that sometimes spews out swift red swathes
I want the white of ocean foam
sand dollar
my boy’s smile
not the blinding white scorch of relentless electric screams
I am looking for the grey that lingers
soft like a ribbon ... a dream
smoke
My white is thin and brittle
chipped
the black rottenness glistening beneath
stinking, putrid
Give me simple grey—easy on my mind’s eye—
give me mackerel sky