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In the name of...
The poet ruminates about cosmic struggle.
Pulled in
a plethora
of misdirections
singular
all-consuming
not a one
Five horizons bleeding
new beginnings
interstitial games
never to be won
Circles walked
nadirs plumbed
always the same
forward round
Minutia excretiae
gird for battle
chase-pursue-repeat
never found.
Another blow
landed to the chin
another chin dropped
to the floor
nothing squared
away except
someone wanted something
just a little bit more.
Absalom Cortes’s wanderlust carried him to the farthest-flung corners of the world. A love of language spurred him to document what he found there. These poems are drawn, in part, from that record. Absalom Cortes’s poetry has appeared in the online journal Rigorous.
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