Rod McKaleidoscope

How many colors of you to enjoy,

The black of your vinyl a different color from your dark,
Burnt umber voice,
Stubbing itself out at the end of each stanza in
Ashy gray,
So smoky your paper hair
Yellows at the edges where it catches the light from your
Eyes so
Blue they

Your blue haunting lovers of the
Heart in the dark in the park in the
Night in Nineteen-sixty,
Violent and violet in the
Phrasing muddled dark and purple as the
Head holding back each slow
Word warped by background singing
Green, not gone-daddy-gone but just simply
Gone off.

Off color, off topic, off the beaten Beat path, a
Rainbow of lessons for poets, singers, lovers,
Men of suavity.
Color me pink not just from summer sun but
Tickled, tickled by your words under my skin.
And tickle me
Green that those words have touched so many, and
Mine will only touch but just these few.

-Dan Collins