Peel a human and they are red inside:
the skin is a thin covering, shades
of brown; from light yellow to warm
umber but they can all be distilled
to crimson, scarlet, vermillion, rose.
I know this as we have taken many
of the ape-like creatures and stripped
them down to the bones; ground them
to dust to try and understand the hate
and tender love they all vacillate with.
We have no feelings, only curiosity,
that is the word humans use – I have
read their dictionaries and oil paint
charts, pondered on their destruction
and pointless cycles of war: it all
comes back to redness: a blood womb
delivers each one to the earth, ruby
splashed bodies, the surprising cut, veins
pour cadmium dark red onto tarmac
or sand. I observe their relentless desire
to disassemble one another… and yet
I must try to understand earthlings.
Understanding comes with replicating.
Their hunger for all things red, to spill
and get right down to the burgundy flesh.