(soft
anguish touches softer purple petals.) the fields are bloody. our color rises.
or deep a swampy creek!
to
rest tender pain, infused with fire, such pegs to die for dear treason; to need
freedom by reaching retention such miracle destruction.
early
hours into noon naps while winnowed such a passionate curse. so much chaff
while fleeing by winds hounds sniffing trails.
I can’t
wake up, nor can I sleep, the river is drenched by pensive souls. (I passed a
vision. I passed a mandrake. I was received upon muddy underbrush.)
sour
paintwork or unused glitter for it only highlights—something filthy or some
void of value while we speak of rage.
an
old style an old grackle while one would delight in her company. (so fragile so
frail pleading for her brains back!)
years
come we decode misery we fight to get the good in us. (it can’t be remembered,
but a few have told while passing through Baton Rouge: so humbled, so
remarkable, such courage, pride, pure determination. as gravel whispers, or
hickory bears witness, or dirt pays homage to celebrated slaves. so much to
live made it so hard to die while The Cross was eccentric.)
so
multifaceted. it works for all nations. it’s monitored for safekeeping.
I was
fretting her. I was musing her. it seemed innocuous. (but keep our lanes or
ride our carts or sit as designated.)
to
paint it Black to arise in feelings to bathe in emotion, while ecstatic over
White inroads.
