“Los artificios y candor del hombre”
—Jorge Luis Borges,
“El golem”

already you can see—the tragic setting
each thing here—in its appointed place
the broadsword—the ash destined for dido
the coin—ready for belisarius
why do you weep—searching in lazy
bronze old hexameters—gone old empires?
when 7 feet of dirt—waits for you
a slow rush of blood—Argentina
watches you now—the mirror of death
dreaming you up—spitting in your face
all your crummy dayz—so bourgeois
goodbye middle class—it was the house
by the street—you grew up in
but now peron, evita—Argentina
wants it back—again

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