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Poem: untitled 

a poem is less burdensome
than an inventory
of red artificial flowers
or a handful of beggar’s pencils

and I can stand upright
or close to it
not legless prideless
kneeling on a pallet

through these dark glasses
I can see clearly both promises
all the reasons supplied
for which-whatever war

engagement
I have learned
has nothing to do
with crosshairs or coordinates

but more like surrender
in cupped hands
offering up to love
a fragile tribute

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