Museworthy: Jose Touches His Toes
Jose's smooth bum
leans up against the cold wall
Tight pants
go all the way to the floor
And Jose says
It feels like a cunt
It really does
And the man looks
at Jose's smooth face
and
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The Game I must tell you of my felony. It is, that at every moment, I was falling away from beauty. In a woman's face I was the eternal coldness, in her hands the unmaturing child growing heavier, disturbing her spine year
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'Little Daffodils of Spring' for Michelle A Taylor The killing is warm and separates us, keeps us going We run to the dead as we never would to the living There is a secret about this badly kept because we know the way
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Museworthy: Silence and its Answer The uprooting of words took place here in the country with no tongue The most silent of plants grows here It is an animal that turns its belly to the blade and faces with the heart's generic
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Museworthy: Hostage Sonnet he lost his head because they realised the scale of value: try one white for one hundred blacks and then further down, one hundred blacks from here equals about a thousand from there... Go West, young
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Make the night your bodyDark child of the chest,how not to clutchthe face to your neck?Symbol of the war,the wonder, the ruin,can this gloryof a thousand black thingsbe born nowin your one last raidon the night?Whisper, day,to the basket droppedat
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They placed on a growing heapAll the goods they had broughtLater we would each takeWhat we wanted Rosario BaluyotPosthumously famousTen years oldEyes blue as eyeshadowRaw mouthSplit like a tomatoBody not cookedBreasts just starting to riseNo
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I have sent hope to the scaffolding to find thescaffold and to the lake to find the onedrinkable cup but in truth had nointerest in such worthless purposes simplywanted hope away. It is such a round-facedscavenger an icon that never
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Is it true they were ploughing the soldiersinto the ground? An arm, bearing a watchtelling all the time in the world; a faceand a boot indistinguishable in theirhardness; a mathematician movingtowards infinity; a weaver soon lostin the intricate
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The Family of True and Well Snails Stand up!on the pink crossof the poor skinny tree — If you cut your hair, don't!Tear it!The two-hand printsare on your faceand breast.God has his paintbrushes outto paint you.You say to himI have a bottle of