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Winter 2012


I am dying, Lord, of thirst. The tap won’t run;
the tub I filled with water’s nearly dry.
Why have you forsaken me? Down

came the power grid in a cascade of failures
when solar flares auroraed the skies of LA,
Miami, Quito. I’m out of canned wild salmon

and tamarind candy. And your fluids I crave,
Gregory-tested, –approved, moon-colored,
from the enema that leaves me windswept

as a dune. As the rule of law. Looters are
storming the floors below. Before my last breath
one more wish: mend my soul. Stare

down my lust till it burns away like mist.
Or shackle, suckle me with eternity, I’d be chaste.