garden in the desert

little red flowers
why won't you keep a nice, straight row?
you were to be yellow,
innocent, adorable
to know only so little
and never speak this story
but now,
your stems have been stretched
roots replanted
and your color is wrong
but time extends
and the evil only spreads
and more turn to red
the crimson flows to everything
spreading splashes even leaves
painting over the garden
somehow every flower is innocent
while brightly very red
everything is flecked, a giant brush above
freckles along the stems
because the earth is full of blood
and if it were to rain
the clouds would be a brown-ish shade
the perfume of thie bouquet,
strong, stagnant and still sweet
despite the bed
soil layers much too drenched
to think the red will fade
as the wind rocks your heads
banging you together
a well thought gesture to clump as one,
but this was to be yellow
and the other to be blue
notice the scent, the shape
you must look past colors now
as everything is bleeding