It smells like a wildfire here.Things are burning down, all of nature so sharp to the touch
I am tired and we talk past each otherAll of the time, all day
The wind dressedin petals necklace and asked,“Why hate colored?”
PolicyNotoriety, promises emptyGreen cotton, wicked linenDevoid of poetry
Why did it take so long to learnthese blunted toolsdo little to beat backthe Stonewall of…