March for the Conquered

none of us can witch the springs of our oppression like this
heat extracting the search from our eyes
air still and quick like tempers in the summer of too many

months blowing out the details in a white burn
sunstare of easy answers so hot
toxins like cadmium yellow stain the treasures of true bonds

don’t let the day fool you, its chain falls off nightly
then fumble fingers find knots intimately tied held hold hold
when thunderheads scare off the season, with rolling clouds



Image Credits: XoMEoX

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