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  • We have seen
    the blood of profane that leads through vermilion torii
    the gospel of movement as sand catches in a buddhist's marigold robes
    the temperature fluctuations on lemon stained Doppler radars
    the taciturn adolescence of malachite tree boas snatching mirror shaded frogs
    the joy of handpicked glaucous coated wine-grapes in mid-winter
    the wail of a baby so tired its pale-rouge is a feint remnant of her 3am tears
    the silence in mourning while a wife remembers lavender kisses on her wedding veil

    We create
    industry centered around colour forecasts
    hobbies dependent on colour theory
    marriages styled in colour themes
    institutions mesmerized by colour histories

    We are not threatened by the tamed narratives of single shaded pastels

    But let men buckle their knees at the sight of a pink plastic spoon in the middle of their frozen yogurt cup
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