Colma (for that cold fluorescence) by Nicholas Wright Such a strange forest of Back ache oak trees. Stripped down to their bones. Parallel boxes in perfect symmetry. Sticks and Stones. Sticks and Stones. Satisfactory numbers. Bleached white uniforms stand rigid. Sad illuminations, a cold fluorescence. Lonely phantoms frozen Under the ice cube moon. Sacrificial children spill in tides of fog, In muted gray smoke streams. Shadows without their flames, And lonely skeletons just want their flesh back.