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A poem by Nicholas Laughlin
The Strange Years of My
and previously in Almost Island, Winter
Je Vous Écris du Bout du Monde
Damn these fevers.
Damn these speechless days.
Damn my old friends.
Damn my gambled treasures.
My frogsuit of jade.
My eighteen leopards.
My pretty crown of thorns.
There are only twenty-nine hours in every day,
only sixteen months in a year,
I only have twelve lives.
Damn this country, pretty on the map,
frontiers of crinkled scarlet.
There are too many wrong countries in the world.
I did not invent the magic lantern.
I did not invent the hot-air balloon.
There is only one day in every day.
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more poems by Nicholas Laughlin