pollution harvesting


slave to unavoidable draw
drawn into blazing coral
violet copper of sunset’s bruise
polluted kaleidoscope skyscape
and harvest moon fat atop an eastern hill

mexican vanilla smells so sweet
and yet…

a truth burns in me
that makeup was invented to color the dead
but she blazes alive in red enchantment
and thus drawn - i am the moth
set aflame

would i reveal the pith of this existence
would i pluck the flower from a cactus
could i live with the reaping of spines
could i bleed to death from such a wound