On Public Lives/Private Lives
Information Highway Songby Guram UrtkmelidzeI got lost on Information Highway,When I looked for a simple and unsophisticated my way! They did not tell us: Who are good fellas!When did I… More
Decomposition by the Ljubljanica
Decomposition by the Ljubljanica The tower with its clock & flagclicks & flaps above the riverletas you wait & ply your brainwith caffeine & wait with the holein your… More
On Public Lives/Private Lives
Weihnachten Was würdest Du machen, wenn Weihnachten wär'und kein Engel würde singen.Es gäbe auch keine Geschenke mehr,kein >Süsser-die-Glocken-nie-kIingen<.Im Fernsehen hätte der NachrichtensprecherWeihnachten glatt vergessen,Und niemand auf der ganzen Weltwürde Nürnberger… More
Caridad Svich: Vestige
VestigeShelled in fearbeneath a pile of shellsI pretend I'm deadand wait for the gunfire to stop but it won'tnot herenot therea border's length awayeven the imitation of gunfireon playgrounds can… More
On Public Lives/Private Lives
Pausing Outside a House Santiago, Chile 2005Here, where a ruin longsto be a house, and a houseto be left to ruin. Where men blindfolded studentsand pushed them downthe basement stairs. The… More
On Public Lives/Private Lives
No poseo nada: ni casa, ni auto, ni habitación, ni una cama. Vivo de paso y de prestado.I own nothing: no house, no car, no room, not even a… More
On Public Lives/Private Lives
They built a prison whose outer boundary was surrounded by a wire fence where some of the most beautiful poems of the nation’s leading poets had been written, by… More
On Public Lives/Private Lives
Would you choose to bury the organs with the child? And he retreats to his room and closes the door. Here, birds in the zocalo whiz and tweet like children’s toys And… More
Public Lives/Private Lives
Surface Tension Scarified now but how? When we once heardparades from windows, swayed in artificiallyluminescent reeds under the Brooklyn Bridge,filled soaked corn husks with masa dough,glimpsed mouse-deer scamper on wish-thinlegs,… More
Public Lives/Private Lives
LaborMy handwriting is rough, a prisoner’s scriptedletter, the cropped fields and your winter handsfolding into my pockets for lack of gloves.I could go in any direction in this field… More