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Color Runs Through Him ( for Kent S. on his birthday )

December 21, 2011


He sits
in a milk-tea skin,
spider-fingers pulling
words from his darkest eye.

A blink of black and white
A long, sharp shape
of a man,
he straightens his spine
and fools us all.

Color runs through him.
He calculates the curve of scarlet,
sets his compass due indigo
holds grey in his palm,
spider-fingers untangling
unnamed colors.

Once,
He breathed on green,
made it purr
like a girl,
sugared.

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