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Eclipse of the Moon

that see beauty, arms that touch
the immortal, these are he.
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snake eyes and medusa hair
a blur of pale cheeks
my sister in the morning
in the mirror
so much at home
with the instruments of mythology
not having to work so hard
to get babies, to crack the code
simple and pale
ruminative, inside reflection
my sisters in the mirror
not having to get pain
nor having to wonder so long,
shall she understand?
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Mary
Your face is made soft by the powder of sleep;
where are the dreams that have made it hard?
The plants at the window, the children that weep,
eternal sausages, jays in the yard,
are more fascinating than life, your eyes
say, and (all the time counting the cups)
death is with us, but let‘s surprise
the children with morning, oh George, get up!
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Years
Starfish, their backs sand-hard,
brutal, self-barnacled, naked-armored,
when flooded with rhythm
lie languorous, lipped with tentacles
floating through varying media.
Years die to be uncovered.
The African speechsong
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