The color of fire


The dark side of the pictures
Are the sounds that child-bearers exhale
When they serve prisons filthy siphons
Brief expirations
Egresses cut off
Caps lowered
The seropositives that work per day
Until they melt
Into the mop’s bucket
Drop by drop
Drop by drop
The stigmata of the buildings
In the eyes of the people
Silent wails
Somewhat afar
In an empty lagoon
Scattered with yellowed nails and putrid teeth
And all behind cheerful oil paints,
Bright pictures
From the off-white of hypocrisy
Identical with the grey of the autumnal clouds
Tinder soon by the color of fire

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