Keith Nunes


Colour my world

The piercing glint of the marble-white Mercedes in the brightly lit 
summer sun was too white to bear so we splashed it with blue house 
paint, phthalo blue, a brilliant hue that once seen cannot be unseen 
under cover of closed eyes, but we left before the owner revived the 
parked car so as to allow them time to interpret the nuanced 
complexion of the reconstituted vehicle

The canary yellow of the vacant neighbouring house forced us to put 
on sunglasses and drink pineapple juice and lather on coconut oil and 
allow the screeching sun to turn us pink, and only then did we douse 
the house in petroleum and set it alight bringing 
out the burnt orangeness it so desperately sought  

The boring baritone of the brown business building was so heartfeltly 
disturbing to the colourful clowns around town that we gathered in 
numbers and descended with long-limbed rollers and thick black 
brushes and a chunky truck of paint tins of all shapes and shades and 
began redecorating the square block of slabness until a rainbow 
arched over the darkened edge of town, a  
kaleidoscopic burst of vivid inspiration  



In America, who you gonna call?

‘9-1-1
What is your emergency?’




Keith Nunes (Aotearoa/NZ) has had poetry, fiction, haiku and visuals published 
around the globe. He creates ethereal manifestations because he's no good at anything 
practical or useful.
 
 

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