—Albert Parsons
went to his death
singing Annie Laurie;
didn’t another have
a rose in his coat—
or was it a pink—
dramatizing himself—
Blooded rose
stalk
hanging out of an empty
coat lapel,
or was it a pink carnation
rose color soft as sunrise
glimmering upon a gallows,
and streak of silver song
ravelled with the rain
on a filthy Chicago morning in the Eighties—
you shall outlast horizons.
(Lola Ridge)
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