Colors of Bodies Next to Us

though he brings the rain,
perfumed and pea coated,
you won't see the wizard.
I rub the hail into my eyes, make melting
diamonds of my pupils that you
might see the insanity that he is and you
ride the nothing train to drinks and laughter you'll soon forget, I just
don't get this, how
we spend our time

all of us
ignoring the ones whipping hurricanes from their tattooed
forearms for no reason but the beauty they
see in chaos, he
wants to hold you in the same
palm, dusted with the remnant of tornado crusts and
earthquake skin and the small rebellions of mountain
sage, which whisper quiet but in
great scandal to one another
each night,
he hears them, is stained by
them, and we seldom note the colors of old
stories when they shade the body
next to us, the colors of the stories of the
bodies next to us

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