The Hunted

Poem By Jorge Enrique Adoum

Is it possible that this is the entire
story, a single day? Yesterday's news,
lost in the next-to-last page,
the drop in shares?

They forcibly charge you the overdue
rent for the land, they charge you for the things
your lamp drove to death by the sheer power of its
and for the heart and its young beasts
that graze while sighing:
gun powder, your
shakes its hands: 'Case closed.'

You are already the one you would be, the same
[dust of which
you were somewhat relieved by your clothes brush.
I will do as you ask; I am still the one you were.
Wandering bird. Prophetic beast.

Hail, wandering angel, irretrievably intact.

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Fleeting Return

The kitchen was still sprinkled
with flour and prayers.
The nurse tucked in the night ghost,

The Visit

I call to the door.
—Who is it, I ask.
—Me, I answer.

The Girl from Tokyo

"I' am not a professional, I work
in an office of the American Army."

The Pursuit

Is it possible that this were all

The Exhumed

If you were saying, if you were wondering from where
it came, who it is, where it lives, it could not
speak but of death, of substances