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Sunday, January 31, 2016

Last Things

To my Rose

When I die,
I want to be,
In a container,
With your love.
Let my soul,
 Sleep with yours.
Let what remains,
Of me,
Abide with what,
Remains of you.
I shall have,
No eyes,
So let the place,
Be any place,
As long as that place,
Is within you.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016


Was so long ago.
We are not Guernica.
The world mourned us not.
No painting marks our deaths,
We take our children
To the grave
In silent mourning.
We patch our holes
And help the world
Forget our name.