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“Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.” — Allen Ginsberg, from Ginsberg, A Biography.

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Writers Pick

Redemption in the Water

drown in egoism.                
how we forget – don’t.
for flicker- shift  
this shell ashore,
revive the rolling
carcass and dissect,
drag that black heart
with the colour waves,
bleaching comatose
vanity that presses
with weight of our bodies-
 
we sunk like sinking
stripping skin for river,
it rowed,
it rowed,
wrapped with those oars
wallow, watch, wallow,
now wait.
how the tide turns fast
the shores threadbare,
smaller and larger
with cavorting drift,
it pulls us in.
some of us- don’t forget
as we drown- flicker shift,
flicker shift.
floats of bodies
glow through thin chalk board,
the light planked ladder
elevates the limbs sprawl
in elegance.
Something.
so majestic
in this empathetic  
chocking-
dead yet so alive.

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