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La Lengua Materna
May 4, 2020

Cada noche me subo a mi tejado solitario
para maravillarme de lo no dicho,
y sé que también estás mirando hacia arriba, que la
leche fresca que vierte de la oscuridad
también te apacigua a ti.

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Certitude  / poetry

Blood Money
March 26, 2020

Humankind sets the price of the earth—
What is the value of things buried deep within?

I would extract a fortune out of dust,

I would mine the sky for diamonds and the soil for moons,

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Certitude  / poetry

Undemocratic Meditations
February 1, 2020

I confess to undemocratic meditations:
If Bin Laden had sought instead
to save the world,
what would he have hijacked?

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America on the Brink  / Certitude  / poetry

Is There Freedom in Forgetting or Being Forgotten?
October 22, 2019

I’m no Dante, lost though I may be,
Nor you my Beatrice, just as lost to me.

Yet the passions ring, silent to your ear—
O brooding lyric, lead on! Lo these many years:

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Certitude  / poetry

What Do I Know in the Middle of the Night?
August 24, 2019

Atheism is not some sad doctrine
Insomniacs suffer, tossing in bed,
Mourning the death of those yet to die,
Composing frantic verses in the dark

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Certitude  / poetry

Mother Tongue
May 3, 2018

How easy to lose control of the comet that
streaks in our hearts from the first to the last!
To forsake our mother tongue
for the vernacular of adulthood!

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Certitude  / poetry

El Beso Absurdo, The Preposterous Kiss
April 9, 2018

Te he escrito un poema.
No es gran cosa.
Me salió como una premonición,
Entre lágrimas y sonrisas.
Te lo escribí porque 
Por el momento me quieres,
Porque eres brillante, y bella,
E indescriptible.

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Certitude  / poetry

Forgetting
February 10, 2018

Why can I not forget when forgetting is the cure?
The warm, wet beach hisses and coos, but her allure
Belongs to those who want to rest. I do not want to rest.
“Listen to your doctor,” they say.
“You are but human! You can’t go on like this!”

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Certitude  / poetry

The Failure of Earnest Grandiloquence
December 24, 2017

My nostalgic heart demands that I be verbose, take my time,
Make of my pain a museum, and wander its halls, seeking…?
Ah yes, these yellowed letters in the attic, half-forgotten,

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Certitude  / poetry

Hope
December 24, 2017

The world is divided into flowers.
Some go to lovers, some to adorn death,
And still others go dropping petals
Like bombs because it is autumn
And there is no hope for life.

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Certitude  / poetry

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