In the walk an extravagance of colors hits you
At the end of the street, blazing red in its blue
As though apartments are pretty sitting birds
Of natural hues, waiting to fly, matured wings
In clipping, their thoughts caught up in clouds.


These are holes in the air with colored clothes
Fluttering in balconies, women brushing teeth
Men out in the lower clothes hanging on knees.
The only thing white about them is milk bags
They bring from an early can-clattering shop
And vans just in from a far off morning dust.

The chickens, though white in their sitting coops
In the chicken vans, are excited to be offloading
But colors are missing in their thoughts of death
The shrieks inside the van are colors of violence,
The colors of meat celebrating meat in its inside.


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