Normally I write a new poem and I submit it around and hold it. Most poetry here is a few years old. This one is not – this one is right now. Also this one has some precedent in my work as I am rarely moved enough to write about something political that can also become so charged. But, here it is…
It seems (prisoners of consciousness)
for Orlando Zapata and Fidel Castro
F. Castro is
doing well
it seems
Cuban dissidents are
still dying
in prisons
it seems
R. Castro blames others
for the blood but not
his blood
it seems
all the while we
mostly remain silent
it seems
– I wrote this
I wanted this out now, right now. I don’t even know how finished it is. I wanted it out now.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 
say something