Sunday, March 25, 2007

Yellow

The yellow dust has settled in, an invisible plague that clogs the air and the landscape. You cannot see it, you just breathe it in.

Breathing becomes difficult and uncomfortable. The dust hangs in the air filling everything with a dirty heaviness that cannot be pinpointed. Later one remembers that the Mongolian desert is invading the very pores. It is tiresome.

Every cough is full of yellow and green mucous flowing up and choking the airways even more. The face is bruised and scared with blemishes born of the dust falling in the skin. Coupled with the already heavy pollution of the city and the pollen of spring one wonders about giving up breathing altogether.

The air is oppressive and tomorrow is Monday. Hard to work when everything is coated by invisible yellow. Hard to think, or speak, or dream. An itch in the back of the throat bothers and cannot be scratched, cannot be choked out. The head swells with fluid and blood and fever. Yellow becomes the most malicious color of them all. Each rise and fall of the chest full of it. Yellow is worse then blue. I want Monday to be something other then yellow.

Perhaps tomorrow I'll wear pink.

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