- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Stealing From Pablo
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I am jealous of Picasso,
the cool dangling cigarettes,
the lovers with intense eyes
lost in his art;
the sketch of Rimbaud
in chaotic angry black
screaming at his audience
with explosions of colored vowels;
the blueness of death
saturate canvases
enveloping the mind
with the pain of extinction;
as I rummage through Guernica
the horse in agony,
the dead children,
the Inferno of evil,
searching for poetic words.
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