Amidst the reign of Katrina the tempest, with the ground slit and gory, echoes of chickadees pealed off the fallen like tear stones. It may have been the grieving grass or a yellowing doe, but a flower was in the woods, one golden as starlight. Its precious skin petals waxed at the edge, beckoning with citrus lust. The plant’s cream lips, heaven’s gates, opened and the air flushed with sound, honey and locusts. Cadence was handed to the Earth: anime and willowed lungs, written trials and tribulations, fake and real and yet to come. But one thing rotted its beauty; its organs were murderous, saffron-like. And so no one knew it sang of hatred.