Rainbow

whitewashed walls
and linoleum floors.

It is your attic,
or your basement,
bare wires poised to punish
careless groping.

And it is your closet
(but only in the dark)
nails never pounded
to blunt-head safety
wire hangars twisted
(because that's art these days).

But scorn me as you may
(do I do you injustice?)
I cannot help but miss
your attic basement closet
because

what is love
but to hurt
and be hurt?

All my charms
and melancholy--
black and blue
both come to folly

But lives are monochrome rainbows,
shades of diffracted gray,
apt to flee at the first question—
or even if you look away.