the squeegee has burst free

And there is orange liquid pouring through my veinsdusted with the powder of green I squirm in remembrance of the beige walls of my office coated in colours of another's design As I float away in land of words and escape the mulch of trees long dead abandoned on my desk a slow inhale of fire's desire and long swallow of a bean long mulched away away to stay is to be a squeegee