A poem about consumerism.
blood diamonds
strung up
around necks
as though hung there
to dry
why?
because Porsha looks pretty in pink
well of course
who doesn’t?
aside from Donald Trump
(you’re fired!)
and the sound of the words was old news
so old they were hardly news at all
they had crystallized
become adamant in their presence
defying the question of if
and asserting the status of is
drying slowly
around necks
as they hang
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