Purple Mountain of Despair

Washing machines, rusted wheels.
Relationships, passions, all the thoughts in my head.

Blue and burnt orange skies,
the color of breathing in Chicago in the fall.
Visions that pose questions with no right answers at all.

These are the movements of trigonometric equations,
the ones not printed inside the cover of the textbook.
The ones few can ever solve.

Like those little waves that hit big rocks
and die out in a swirl.