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Poem: Alex Stolis

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Stillhet; Cisza; Silenzio

You show me your scars, one for each sin. I trace them make them 
my own. There is no moon, no street sounds 
and sunrise is a story, fragile and green. You tell me about 
going to Warsaw alone for seven days. How it was hot and 
black. How you walked all over town, felt like a naked secret 
in disguise. I find beauty in the mechanical, in the thin lines 
of your crow’s feet. I journey to the country of namelessness. 
When I come out of hiding you explain to me the thousands 
of names for silence, the different meanings of quiet. Tell me 
we are a mournful song. We are the same no longer; we are 
sea-washed and new.

Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis; he has had poems published in numerous journals. His chapbooks include, Justice for All, (The Conversation Paperpress), Without Dorothy, There is No Going Home (ELJ Publications), and Left of the Dial (corrupt press). Forthcoming books include: Into the land of Nod from Porkbelly Press [2015] and The Hum of Geometry from White Knuckle Press [2015].



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