I dreamed that death in the afternoon
was a pale ribbon harvester
picking off the color–

the sun-kissed banners of kissing mothers,
the emerald papers of collegiate dreams,
the gold wrapper torn from their beer,
the ruby hair-tie of a lover, naked otherwise,
the ebony hand of the survivors on land,
the bone belt of an uniformed worker, waiter, fighter,
the blue obi of the elderly, the sick wrapper, not undone,
their lovely bones to wrest.

Death, she is a mobile maypole of streamers
educating the fallow desolate,
a bicycle handlebars’ ribbons
on a jealous wind.


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