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Alen Hamza

 

 

SURFACES

 

I want to make love
with a ruin

Scrub the surface, slide the fingers across
                                                         the wave-infested top

Tickle stone, tickle stone:
                      I am made of flesh and bone

Paper lives longer

            And father on mind?

            And my father on my mind

Father: you were a plum-keeper

The peak experience passes,
a swallow knighting the dawn

What's left
                      is the rhythmic day

 

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Alen Hamza responds to art, economics, and Country Music not paying him for his poems.