Create anew these old and tired veins running thick with dust,
course fresh blood to quench aching hands.
Cold, crackling, paper-Okie hands.
This is no graveyard ground in to bury spent roses,
petals gone to rape like violent waste,
thorns like bones like blackened bleeding
bent and felled into the earth!
Warm streams instead for planting,
grow a field of lilies
not made for red
or flowering for the hands
that will lose for them virginity.