Letters to Federico

Letters to Federico

Your initial lines still as unreadable,
Final lines just as your self,
How your words had gradually
Ascended
Into your overwhelming sense of
Shame, sorrow, and fire.

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Too little salt, too much sea

Too little salt, too much sea

your
teethmarked bones
ached for
a
lie

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OREGON COAST: THE SEARCH FOR ORDER IN SEPARATE THINGS

OREGON COAST: THE SEARCH FOR ORDER IN SEPARATE THINGS

Umbrellas and pity passed me by
as water from heaven
fell onto pop cans and whiskey bottles
thrown on the grass and sidewalk.

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THE HOUSE THAT LOTA DE MACEDO SOARES BUILT IN SAMAMBAIA

THE HOUSE THAT LOTA DE MACEDO SOARES BUILT IN SAMAMBAIA

When the cascade was revealed
its babble was replaced by
the allegations of cotinga birds
and the pleas of tamarin monkeys.

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Shiva Bhairava

Shiva Bhairava

Sandalwood statue,
you’ve fed yourself to River
Karnali; currents
gnawed everything you are not.

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Pandavas

Pandavas

We stood in a row, I do not remember who led,
Who brought up the rear,
But the fireflies raged,
Lighting up the forest, the velvet rocks

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Bhasha Dibosh

Bhasha Dibosh

every night you ask why I love you
and every night I fail to answer.
Tonight, on Bhasha Dibosh,
I have an answer.

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Farmers' Market

Farmers’ Market

The children double-time,
surrendering keffiyahs and hijabs
to the breeze.
They will not make it.

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Myth Making

Myth Making

I would have sat you down and explained, poured
you a mug of coffee and placed it on
that aqua-painted table we bought at
the thrift store that winter in Alaska

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Untitled

Untitled

Bare every women and rip her on the streets,
And spare not even your mother, own
The pound for murder lingers no more,

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Les femmes d'Haïti

Les femmes d’Haïti

Woman carrying basket of pineapple
Atop her head, hair like an Arabesque carpet
Woven with a million coarse black threads

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The Fruits of Halabja

The Fruits of Halabja

children who had eaten breakfast
with their mothers took their
supper with their ancestors.

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A Welcome Note to the Edible Boy

A Welcome Note to the Edible Boy

Atop the flashy designation
Quivering,
is my name in bold

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August, 42nd

August, 42nd

There is no relief, no getting over this heat,
so I settle down and stare into the sky

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Classicism beneath the glass

Classicism beneath the glass

Disparate fragments flew from their frames
A memory or a moment lost

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