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It's the knowing

Photographs are leaves fallen from
Trees of society

They pile up and we rake them into
albums and books

Perhaps it be better to burn them.
All those smiles into the flame.

Here's one!

Forty four humans compose the scene
Forty three form a half circle
One takes center stage

All are men save two

nineteen are indistinguishable
stitches of woolen coats
top hats and driver caps

Five eagerly glance off, as if there's
another camera

Thirteen look into the lens
Three among this group smile

One man, a gaze unknown
Straightens his tie

Five muse toward center stage
Four of them purse their lips
thinking

One among them, a boy of maybe ten,
raises his hand under his chin
making a curious open mouth smile

The last human, center stage
His Eyes were watching God

He lay pretzeled around two
By fours, with a broken oil
Lantern by his side

After he'd been shot and
Mutilated his corpse was
Set aflame, causing crests
of charred flesh to form crusty
ribbons across his body

Welcome to Omaha, Nebraska 1919

It's the knowing that will
Kill you

I wonder what frames we'll be
Caught in. Damning us to hell

Did I mention. He was
Black?

No need. I'd guess.

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