once i had a rainbow machine two prisms. a window. the sun all watermelon in its september. college students with fingers like coat hangers. all the door knobs in the world turning at once. our dorm room was microwave humid. a bracelet of ants made its way across the wall. i lied to the lamp lights & told them i needed to astral project somewhere else each morning. really, i ran on a treadmill. sometimes a rainbow would join me with all its shivering but it would never stay long. rainbows always have somewhere else to go. i imagine a whole world exists dedicated to each color. i like to think my violet self is wiser & that apples taste vaguely like bruises there. the rainbow machine visits all these fragments & returns with only their light. i put my bed in a tree. i put a tree in the basement. a refrigerator blooms from the carpet. a rose opens on the windowsill & is consumed by the ants. we sit on the floor. my roommate visits the violet world when she sleeps. i sleep walk once & end up in the bathroom on the floor below us. our building grows long hairy legs & attempts to walk away. we read books at our desks. she is gone & i lay on the floor by myself with only the company of the rainbow machine. the machine tells me a story of when it was first harvesting wave lengths. i tell the machine i want to be in love all the time but by "love" i don't mean "love" i mean rapid acceleration. i'm willing to open my window & crawl out on the roof for the next boy. i'm willing to slip into the red world & steal a slice of the color for him. my body need a fun house mirror to look assembled. the rainbow machine moves faster & faster. whirling color. i tell it i need more time. the days move across my roommate's face & she doesn't seem bothered by it. she goes through her routine & i go through mine all the while the rainbow machine is culling us for color. i lose all my yellow one saturday & the next week there is no green to be found. i search out the colors in the surrouning town. walks on the trail. sitting in a target parking lot. the rainbow machine eventually dies. it falls from the window where it perched. i do not try to fix it. i feel relief & fear. will it haunt me? yes it will. my roommate sleeps heavy. she doesn't notice it's gone. the air conditioner does little to strip the orange from the room. we wake up in summer & the room folds back down into a slice of printer paper.