Poetry

What you did not know
was the resilience
of tulips.

The riots start
in colors, earnestly. A violent
outburst of the theme of surrender
before dawn.

You kiss the irises,
blue, violet and crimson
for nominalism.

The vision emboldens-
the wounds, the slit throats-
to come again for guillotine.

A sliding blade
with promise to kill,
will not move.