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Rain: a collaborative poem

by Lionel Murcott and Amanda Ballen, 2018   Rain hesi- tates, waits. Scatters a handful alpha- betic drops. Stops. Then – crashrumrumble open, incoherently loops vowels around displaced drowning consonants. In its business of steaming– the soaking and swelling of

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Born from his Head

by Lionel Murcott   Once there was a hungry man. He ate up Prestige. He ate up Good Will. He ate up Newsreels. He grew so big that he filled his whole mansion. Then he started to ache: his head

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How is the knife ?

by Partha Sarkar   How is the knife ? Is it sharp ? But I do not understand Why you blame this divine plough. It is pious. It paints the face of dawn With the blood of a meaningless heart.

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The Good Shepherd And His Sheep

by Ndaba Sibanda   They sang and shouted with joy as he paced about, whispering of godliness. Suddenly he raised his voice and approached a young lady Whose red-painted lips gleamed with loveliness and chubbiness. He then declared: I see

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Two Poems by Allan Kolski Horwitz

What the hell Day isn’t done+++ yet ++++++++++ so you breathe and fart and kiss ++++++++and slope down into a state of capture when the architecture of isystem cracks +++++and there are troubles +++troubled times ++++++++++and day to day ++is

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