Throwing Colors

I ask of you
not flawlessness
not excellence,
nor precision or a sturdy mind.
I will not request of you
perfection
or aptitude in matters of the world.
Politics and the meanderings
of urban centipedes
are not relevant in my rough sketch.
I do not ask you
to follow bread crumbs in search of something greater than you are.
In fact dear,
I’ll never request more than you can achieve.
My standards are not held in such lofty rafters
that I expect you to sweep the cobwebs from them.
I do not expect you to clean the streets
or fix the faulty plumbing in my laundry room.
I do not wish for you to speak with civil tongue
or touch with gentle hand.
Heaven knows I have been handled too gently.
Treated as porcelain,
despite my fortitude in the matter of screaming matches.
So I do not fancy
that you treat me fairly.
I do not desire
you defer to me.

All I ask of you
you drought ridden soul
is that you will allow me to throw my colors upon you.
An experimentation if you will.
I’ll pop balloons filled with spicy Chinese orange sauce in your face,
and push your head into the bucket in that fish market
in the little village I found on that trip to some Oriental place.
All I ask of you is that you allow me to be rambunctious.
Please for the love of the lords
do not call fault on my tom foolery.
Call it vivacious if you must call it anything at all.
Call my leaps and spontaneous jigs
variations in this masterpiece we’re dancing in.
Don’t call me insane.
there’s no point in redundancies,
they only muddle all the colors I’m throwing on you.