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Rigoberto Gonzalez – Ⅳ

Morgue Sonnet 


                 for George W. Bush 




The library has been doused with formaldehyde.

A stack of encyclopedias reminds us of Brazil

the pile of bound goats that declared itself alive

by the sporadic—and startling!—twinkle.


Look under A for Apartheid. G for Genocide.

Flesh sticks stubbornly to the bone and windows

for the bullet and baton. They will not be buried,

these stick figures pinned upright to the shtetl.


Mogadishu. Nicaragua. Every sore a letter shy

of an epidemic. We will march bravely toward the WW

and wince at its firing squad of fangs wedged beside

Viet Nam. An eye for a machete to clear the jungle:


the pages need room for a new century of synopses

with headings instead of toe tags, number corpses.