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Array
(
[sid] => 75282
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Color of a Man
[time] => 2004-12-11 02:29:53
[hometext] => A poem written two months ago when my
[bodytext] => My black rain soaking his filter straw hat emotions like dead dogs rolling around inside He wiggles me out of my armor just to have me slip into it again his breath stuffed into my ear it survives He is like crossing Christ with a handicapped butterfly a socio-path with ink on his tongue He is walking around collecting street-fuzz (???) he makes me laugh with his head down eyes flying Surrounded by spicy waters that have spilled from my own bottled sorrow he drinks this elixir like death drinks life from behind a coffin I once thought that if you finger a poet when he’s high on love the sky will move a step up now I see the sky remains still like an artificial organ He stepped into an etched drawing of pink sailboats and asked “why?” as they sailed away from his lips He is playing with the lies I rubbed into his ear for us (???) soiled scars like stairs go both ways he stands on top leaning forward like a broken crossbow Only in a motel can curtains red like female petals shade from the world everywhere else windows are like transparent eyes crying our souls down the street He kneels Do you see yourself kneeling? Inside your little sailboat and it’s drowning -Giotto Cimbabre Apelles- is where we will meet Your future on my lap distorted like an image of a million Buddha status standing in front of a mirror You are no longer a Poet You are the Color of a Man [comments] => 3 [counter] => 241 [topic] => 22 [informant] => ina [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove )
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