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Dec 19, 2010


to Shea

The slaves,

their eternal bodies
the color of flamboyant burnish

take turns, take turns
laying down the bones to earth.

They will,
or won’t be never missed.

Some go blind by the hilly banks of varnish,

so wordlessly sweet do the candors of their sinned faces
bloom lavishly with anguish
into plainness every evening

as the sun begins to vanish.
Even they have loved

Even they bear some resemblance

to us, spread finite & dirty
under the marbled orchard of forbidden

stars, holding their wings out at arms’ length
toward the sky,

shaking out dust from the dust.