

HagaddahI am trying to understand the ways in which an entire nation can watch another, The Other, drown in the ocean, toppling over waves with chariots and rearing horses, Tumbling through coral, an entire generation of young men fall to their knees, and we pick up a tambourine, rejoice, and try to remember that we are free Hagaddah
Shirat Hayam, the Song of the Sea.
But it is April 19, 1943 and the guns are firing over Warsaw, a repression of rebellion, a slaughter of the pascal lamb leaves human blood in the streets, dripping down sewers, t


Numb Mornings: New York CityI have built a cocoonNumb Mornings: New York City
with writing on the walls. My hands stay tucked, close to my heart. The world melts orange
as the sun comes up. Eyelids dart through veins and vessels, air conditioner drips slightly, as kettle groans, sighs, climaxes into more silence.
My knees curl closer. I can hear the traffic floating through long stretches of highway somewhere in the exterior: a Chinatown bus a boy in a green coat and a hunting hat a boy with a slight gap in between his two front teeth. a smoker, a blizzard bicycle, a horse tranquilizer. F
NYC
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really great, you're a wonderful poet.
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we are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world
I feel like the whole medium is dying until I read stuff like yours <3
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of course I care what you do while sedated
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painting sunlight on the side of houses since 1988
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