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          heaven is not so far
                        distant from earth,
             nor snow so far different
                       in color                  from coal;

              fan of the past
                      open with a piss
                      on hot
               coal white in soft

            thighs
                        always if admonished
                        were the dart
                             requisite

                            for turn
                    drawn out, the boar
         saturnine
         indolent

               statue marked
                             world fur
               redolent of bosky pitch
                             thrust

               from the burrow’s limit
                        into hunt. world turning
                        under the dart
                               a dart through the poles.

                            yet the boy
                    pissed on himself,
                 astonished        the goddess
                            would androgynous

                    “why if never thought
              myself lovely
                  enough deserving
                      it there!

                further from my hips
       standing certain
                to have spent life
      trailing

    then told
            someone saw me
               up ahead,
    oval heart        oval earth”

        his arms incomplete
           (thought himself a lassoer)
                       are silence
                 campfire doused black

                 blood of incest
                          though history
                  is a blizzard
         and are mystique. sputter

                 boreal corkscrew
            crows
         pitch-glide       discolor
      ensuing what

                       lanced back through powder
       darting tusk
    hunt-spun
                  into groin

                            anemone death
        ammoniac wind
                             a cinder
                Adonis

     

    Camilo Roldán is a poet and translator. He is the author of the chapbook Amílkar U., Nadaísta in Translation (These Signals Press) and La Torre (Well Greased Press). His poems have appeared in Quaderna, Sink Review, Aufgabe, [PANK], and elsewhere. He is the editor-in-chief of DIEZ.

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