poem 6707

June 12, 2007

The luminescence, the night-glow
of the alarm clock green
you penned on your own face
To connect the myriad of melanin
the gods spat on you
like rank beer

The melanin that covered tightly;
that was more there than
the other
The melanin that matched your hair
and made you what you are,
in scattered thunderstorm patterns

The melanin you connected further
with your pondish pen,
dot, dot, dot, dot,
So connecting, you took a full hour or more
for a solitary cheek,
or the bridge of your nose

You plugged them together with
green extension
cord inch by inch
Supplying yourself with a
power of art, you said
power of tattoos and fetishes, you said

And when, after the sunset
and autumn even moved on
and I’d long gone home
You were done, and you showed me

Where did you go, amphibian?
So much green: a green green
You hide.
Like the larvae of any insect
that doesn’t want to die young.
But what you are is not your fault
and hiding doesn’t burn out doubt.


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