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Brian’s new shoes. She asked me of his whereabouts. They’re
putting a new door in.
CCI. They’re putting a new door in. Impersonating an officer.
They’re putting a new door in. Feliz Navidada. My watch continues
to stop: self-identity.
the steaming metropolis
at 8 am
with dry lips.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the ball.
Papers on her head. Like a crown of spring thorns. They’re putting
a new door in.
This is only the third poem I’ve written in 2001. And probably the
last one. The other two went like this:
It hit with the farce of an atom bomb.
If there are no animals on Mars, is there anything that could classify
People are like ciphers. They say this, they say that.
Private life is a social experiment.
The French: an impatience with secular explanations.
Writing. Boiling potatoes.
Everybody’s pride is hurt.
Hezbollah and hot dogs.
Be sure to add these Tones of War
to your arsenal of meters.
Brian Kim Stefans is a poet and Assistant Professor of English at UCLA. He is the editor of the /ubu (”slash ubu”) series of e-books at www.ubu.com/ubu and the creator of arras.net, devoted to new media poetry and poetics, where most of his work, including his own series of Arras e-books, can be found.
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But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.
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