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Poetry

Dramaturgy

I’m writing a play about a Kommandant at Auschwitz / who recognizes one of the Jewish prisoners/ as a famous poet

Awe

What damage do I do? / The night avoids my eyes, so does the road. / I am never wholly myself, unto myself.

Haibun: Spring

Spring turns to summer, hopes fly high. A golden romance—in my bloody fists I smell osmanthus flowers. Under the pulped sun, lovers grow young and younger.

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