About Me

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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

20130912

September Twelfth, 2001


by X.J. Kennedy

Two caught on film who hurtle
from the eighty-second floor, 
choosing between a fireball
and to jump holding hands, 

aren't us. I wake beside you, 
stretch, scratch, taste the air, 
the incredible joy of coffee
and the morning light. 

Alive, we open eyelids
on our pitiful share of time, 
we bubbles rising and bursting
in a boiling pot.




Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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