Dead Seeds

Kelsey Amell
I pull up to the gas station 
and a man stands outside of my vehicle-
bandaged, where his nose should be.
He points to the sky behind me and says "look!"
I observe a rainbow, so faint. 

To him, this rainbow is brighter than how the rest of us may see it,
for his senses, all but smell, are heightened.
For him-
he hears the slight rip through the skin of the clouds
performed by the seemingly endless stream of pigment. 
He can pick out every color.
Blue- like a sonic boom
Yellow- like a swift wind
Orange- like the sound of rain on the ground
and Violet- like the shuffle of chiffon and the crush of velvet.

He sees- every dead head's dream.
The dancing bears take shape of the rainbow, 
dancing about the sky to the jam.
The sight gives him the sensation of being on LSD 
or something tastier.
A mixture of skulls, lightening bolts and shrooms.
Floating around to this sound and the sky turns a deep red
and gum drops fall about the ground, 
smashing into small chards of frozen groove juice
then descending as a delicious blue liquid
turning to shells of a bullet.

A bullet that belongs to the uniformed men 
lined up like toys
with guns adorned with roses about their barrels- killing for fun.
I look around and see the masks forming in the puddles-
these almond eyes see straight through me
as if they are begging.
Begging for a chance to live, and for a life they shall never recieve. 
I can see, after these eyes have seen the first virgin bomb
they can't help but depend on more.
As bombs explode, the cherry blossoms form a mushroom cloud, floating and spinning over and over.
Now, maybe people will listen.
Is this really what it takes?
The smell brings me back every time.