The King With Out Clouths Poem by DAVID GERARDINO
The King With Out Clouths
PAINTED up peaple,
with their fake IDS,
they nod at the mirror, then back
away, like a thief in a bank.
and they wisper.
this is my color,
this is my money,
this is my face, and this is my painted
world, if you dont like it, then walk,
or run, or fly, the other way.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
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4/26/2024 9:52:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
