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modern poetry

cuando las horas del día se numeran
con los ojos mansos, marrones
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
debajo de mi ventana en una calle de la ciudad
por lo tanto no puedo
algunos de los daños que usted ha curado
no ruego para la paz
vea, de esta falsificación de él

 



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  • Dirty Little Secret - Advocate
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  • Speaking the word - WNYC
  • Kim Ode - Minneapolis Star Tribune
  • Devil’s Advocate - Pioneer Log
  • Nightlife calendar - Tallahassee.com
  • Lesbian rights pioneer Del Martin dies - San Francisco Chronicle
  • Palestinian writer who gave stateless a voice - Zawya.com
  • Female doctor writes of life in Saudi Arabia - Daily News Transcript
  • DVDs: 'Made of Honor' is sweet - Oakland Tribune
 

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