We are filthy. We have stubborn
blood soaked into our palms’ readings
we are filthy. We have our wounds
stung by the tangerine’s juice and sealed shut
we are filthy. We find our owns’
lives Tipp-Exed in history’s yellow pages
we are filthy. We have our grass
depressed, only for it to renew from the shade.
We are filthy. We have our sky
spit acid rain, yet our lungs breathe steadily as one
we are filthy. We have our lavender
plucked, only for its scent to be diffused by our drag queens.
If we are ‘filthy’, then
We are soiled with the rainbow’s ricochet of freed light.