Spring 2024 - Recrudescence

Poems

swaying, at the crowns of foreign kings drooping like wilted flowers over their eyes. Where can one ever feel within oneself the gay god’s elevation?

You have to will the belief, I suppose, like my grandfather going to church without feeling it.

So I look up from this omphalos to all my ancestors in the vault: Can the light step of a dance erase the treads of fate? And they answer with a cold drizzle that bathes my upturned face…

I smile and welcome the strange fonts that fall

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