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Keetje Kuipers

Self-Portrait with Cockroach

2 July 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

what keeps you up all night

listening to the neighbor

call his cats in: oh the animals

we might choose to save, put them

on a polystyrene ark to Mars: what

we start that finishes us: the seventy-

four degree day in December: …

You loved a woman once

29 June 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

Your own body, broken into so many times, became a clear lake

for her to bathe in. Remember pulling the one tiny, suckering

leech from below her neck, the pale collarbone Braille it left.

Across a great wilderness without you

26 June 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

The deer come out in the evening.

God bless them for not judging me,

I'm drunk. I stand on the porch in my bathrobe

and make strange noises at them—


if language can be a kind of crying.

Driving back into the city

9 May 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

Here's what I'm trying to say: The deer coming toward us through the dark

      and we're unable to see them

The car passing over the bridge into the maw of the city like a willing moth

      suddenly wrapped in fire

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