is an oft-neglected blossom,
therefore these paper dry petals
at the front door of America.
We sure do like our whiplash, don’t we?
Likewise this dinner of crimson
ostensibly placed before us
by the omnipotent. Nothing
is quite as free as the blood which flows
arbitrarily from a bullet-ridden chest.
The rest of us get to get on with living,
but at what price?