Poets

painted across the new face of man awakening from unlearned sleep bled between shackle and wrist

Every year, new idealist volunteers, more tourist than missionary, come to save us with their insect repellent and books. They build tombs from our jaws.

When the girl who looked like sun rays fell and twitched like an electrocuted fetus, most of the third grade class laughed. Some even pointed as if marveling at shooting stars,