Poems from Estufa
I’ts not that I’m insouciant,
I just can’t find the shape of tongue
To inform you of your ignorance;
To tell you the ways of the world,
In...
The stage
Where smoothly stuttering movements
Are their own brand of finesse,
Is the stage upon which I wish to waltz
For the rest of my...
He says,
We will wax this wood,
And Green Grass will Grow,
And all will be amazed;
They will be saved!
But I wonder—
My children do too,...