there was once a man
with a pocket full of rainbows
and some were sharp
and some were warm
and some were in between
but they were all beautiful
and the man would pull them out
one at a time
and feel their reflection in his chest
and he would know he was alive

but one day he reached into his pocket
and found that a color was gone
but he had so many more colors
so he thought nothing more of it
and felt the reflection of his almost full rainbow in his chest

yet more and more colors went missing
and his rainbow got smaller
and thinner
and its reflection was not so bright as it once was
and one day he reached into his pocket
and all that was left was blue
and his chest felt hollow
for without the other colors in the rainbow
the reflection of blue was nothing more than grey mist

but blue was all the man had
so he held it tighter to his chest
and decided to never return it to his pocket
out of fear that he might loose the only color he had left

so the mist surrounded him
and dyed his skin grey
and turned his eyes into cold diamonds
and fashioned his feet into stone
and the man was afraid
afraid to let go of his blue
and discover
that it was the only thing left
anchoring him to the earth.

Sometimes I wish memories were water soluble
That these tears might wash them away
But try as I might
This clouded mind
Is where these memories choose to stay

I only write poems when I'm manic
I collect words when I panic
Gather them up in a picnic basket
To spread them all out before me
On a rainy afternoon
But I am inside, you see
Where the rain can't touch me

I spread out my words
Like peanut butter and jam
Putting them together all over again

But now the bread's soggy
And the jam too is watery
My eyes drip liquid glass
Reflecting every part of me
The mania has ceased
My energy deceased
Sadness now caresses me
Exhaustion slipped inside of me
I guess even inside
Somehow the rain found me

it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.