Thirty days of suck XI: blue moon

I hadn't begun to compose the usual textual banality, oft sprinkled with inside jokes, esoterica, &/or cryptography unassailable due to not ever having sent out decoder rings to thee, because I'm not that stupid, gentle readership. Fuck, I hadn't even chosen a picture, & that's the easiest way to do these things, do anything, pick the art, & let it work its magic. Then I considered homie's query: what do you think, what do you feel when you see blue?

What shade of blue,
how much of it,
when do I see it,
where,
with whom,
with no one,
why?

'tis old glass found in a borrowed book & just look at that blue.

[ed. note: all right, artificial light's much too bright, but trust, blue's outta sight] 

Now I can respond, with perfect, cloudless, chart-every-star-in-Orion evening sky clarity, & if you think I am going to, you're fucking crazy. I almost feel bad for the pages that have to bear the answer's directionless, self-absorbed, adolescent ink.

Almost.