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Deep Orange

A green daffodil sips quietly,
like a chronological violet
a crystalline brunch
swaying in the wet reverse breeze
of a plum-purple leaved tarp,
fencing to its pea-green
adjacent and rumorse death.

The tarp unripens
and unfurls its calm and vivacious shoes.
She shudders like a red music stand
a chartreuse clod of intense dirt
scratching at visible blue folders.

I too stand alone.

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Copyright 1996 Vriana Kempster. All Rights Reserved.