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Grandmother

Married at fourteen, Her half-blossomed bosoms Literate in cooking and cleaning– My mother, her first daughter At nineteen, Clinging to her apron– She doesn’t pray

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El Diablo

Es ya libre, ya libre este suelo, ya ceso su servil condicion. -Bolivian National Anthem Hollow-hearted El Diablo Was formed from smokeless fire, His loveless,

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You can’t be better than me

I turned myself inside out just for a taste of manufactured latex born from the wreckage of righteousness your words — inaudible whispers Unaware that

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Father’s touch

I thought I'd come to hate The unfulfilling feeling Of waking beside a loveless Human being Too proud to pleasure me — And it amazes

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