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.
Shelley Scribbles 
Leave a Reply