Have you combed your hair
While you waited for this page to bring you
A shipwreck
An evening displaced in ambition
A time that is a pillow that is a snow mountain
In the kitchen
Are you lost, my fellow poet?
Church bulletins on Sunday
Behind politics
Where is that place where you hide
With all the words you dreamed?
Poems that come in dreams
Dreams that are green and global
Your mother’s voice in the sea of the crossroads.
The moment of alignment
thinking inside your thoughts
Will they also regret being born?
I’m having long conversations with the author of
“Psychological Paradigms of Displaced Persons”
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