Monday, March 16, 2015

Framed Found Poem

The Indians' hospitality, before and after a new calamity.
With more fish and roots, they thought themselves rich.
It was a struggle to dig.
We stripped and stowed our clothes in the craft.
But that only carried them more certainly underneath.
A single roll of the sea, tossed the rest of the men into the rushing surf.
But the survivors escaped as naked as they were born.

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