There is perhaps none
which castigate so
cruelly as our own.

The measuring cups
emerge and syringes
too so as to draw

blood and measure
what the centrifuge
has separated into

the parts which
blood does splay
when forced apart.

Rulers and scales
determine arbitrarily
given metrics then

used to build circles
that close around
worthy reds and

which exile hues
that fail to measure
up to our own kind.

Crueler still is the
hue that sits in
veins I carry-

centrifuge betraying
too many parts that
do not weigh enough

for any kind.

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