Poetry Analysis

I saw a man painted blue—

I saw a man painted blue— a god, or merely another clue.

I'd never seen a god play the flute, yet the people gathered around him, bound as if by glue.

Their eyes fixed on the man painted in blue.

Wishing for a wish from another wisher. Every eye surrendered itself to a single bird's feather.

I saw a man upon a Cross, waiting for the bus, doubting the Blue, with a red wine which he brew.

I heard a voice through a speaker, calling a name above the rest. One man asked another which ticket he held, before breaking the bread.

Then I wondered when I'd drawn in. The ticket had always been in my pocket.

I saw a man painted blue— a deity, or just another sign.

I had never seen a deity play the flute, but people gathered around him, as if stuck together.

Their eyes focused on the man painted in blue.

Hoping for a wish from another person wishing. Every eye gave itself up to a single bird's feather.

I saw a man on a Cross, waiting for the bus, doubting the Blue, with a red wine he made himself.

I heard a voice through a speaker, calling a name above the others. One man asked another which ticket he had, before sharing the bread.

Then I wondered when I had joined in. The ticket had always been in my pocket.