painting a wave tanka
painting a wave is a lot of trouble— water under water with its thin mascara of buoys and corks
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It’s been a long time coming
It’s been a long time coming I’ve had to reach deep inside my shipwrecked city to say goodbye to my dead. Now, I am a morning mutant, calling out His Name from my nuclear abyss, ninety-five times a day. I’ve lost all my images to the moon, to the doorways that promise answers, to stories of old wars, and I bury my head in the piñatas waiting for the sun to shine brighter.