Once I longed for a wide page
printed only in cyan, oceanic
in saturated blocks of the color,
or thinned into a spray
of shining dots on flat paper
with no more detail than shifts
of shade could conjure there.
In my defense I say anyone
could grow fanatic, "This and only
this true cyan with nothing added!"
and then collapse on the prints,
hungry in all that fierce monochrome
vision, becoming just as shabby,
except for the hunger, for the fiercer
desire to stay hungry.