Winter is a designer
Of funeral. She tends to
A pallet of extremes,
Crimson, and yellows.
The yellows
Are bright to pale
But rarely do they
Paint in green
Because, that
so last season.
Yet, who doesn’t love
Summer. Hell in America,
the money is verdant,
the cool faces of slave owner
forever caught in their height
While, reminding America
Of it depths. The unburied
bodies are fresh deep browns,
worked until the flesh stuck to bones.
Lashes expose the crimson just beneath
the fresh brown and this is spring.
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