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Image by Pawel Czerwinski

In the name of...

The poet ruminates about cosmic struggle.

Pulled in

a plethora

of misdirections



not a one

Five horizons bleeding

new beginnings

interstitial games

never to be won

Circles walked

nadirs plumbed

always the same

forward round

Minutia excretiae

gird for battle


never found.

Another blow

landed to the chin

another chin dropped

to the floor

nothing squared

away except

someone wanted something


just a little bit more.

Image by Yannick Pulver

Absalom Cortes’s wanderlust carried him to the farthest-flung corners of the world. A love of language spurred him to document what he found there. These poems are drawn, in part, from that record. Absalom Cortes’s poetry has appeared in the online journal Rigorous.

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