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When You Finally Tell Me Where You are, Neither of Us
will be the Same
by Jim Pascual Agustin

 

The shoes you didn’t stuff in your bag
will have had countless inhabitants, nearly
invisible. So close to each other they need
to fight for space or become dust. Picked up
by the flick of a passing breeze, they float.

I speak and the remains find a way
into my lips. Particles that lived
on shed skin. My brother, perhaps
you do not remember. This, unsent,
will not even find your eyes.

But I write it anyway, with blood
from my umbilical cord
that only you can see.

© Jim Pascual Agustin

 

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ANNE CARLY ABAD
The City is a Conch

Flesh for the Weary

JIM PASCUAL AGUSTIN

Birds will have Dominion When I Take Swallow Form

When You Finally Tell Me Where You are, Neither of Us will be the Same

IVY ALVAREZ
G

X

Penelope

Tumbling

Sijo

E. SAN JUAN, JR.
Harana sa Isang Kasama, Hinahamon ang Tadhana
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