For Roland Barthes (12 November 1915 – 25 March 1980)
after opening
the envelop stuffed with my poems
I take out
my heart, wash it clean
and start writing again
surrounded
by a swarm of buzzing words
I squash them
in the rhythm
of short, long, short, long, long
I keep
stacking blocks of stanza
suddenly
the poem collapses in silence
I am buried alive
under the gaze
of Calliope's love
my next poem
is about to take flight
but Heaven's window is shut
I skip
a stone of words
across the lake
of another time
another place
Lynx, XXVI:2, June, 2011
A Room of My Own: Freedom and Mass Graves Tanka
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*Against the Drowning Noise of Other Words*, LV: "mass graves"
hosting Passover
the festival of freedom ...
a neighbor's TV
blasts news of the mass graves
f...