Chromatics

You should never

walk your dog

if you are drunk. It just may be

you conjure some ridiculous

requiem, on how living would be

better

if dung was iridescent, vomit

viridian; if incendiary plumes

ascended in a floral

spectrum—like the petals of

Nagasaki,

Gaza and Hanoi;

or how gorgeous

death would look

if we bled in beige

instead, the clouds a score of

scarlet as if they bore our every

sin to Beaulah Land,

where it rains in mists of

teal, sung of with our

tongues which spit the loveliest

hue of amaranth you’ve ever seen.

Andreas Gripp

August 16, 2026

photograph: shutterstock