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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU M√ľnchen, where I edit a weekly circular of U.S. poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English and tutor composition.


At Mamallapuram

by James Merrill

The site relives its tender monotone
In the begging children's bodies, thin and dark.
They even sleep here, watched over by a far dog's bark
Setting its faint pockmark onto the stone

Up out of which every morning small temples have grown
Like organs, those that nourish or beget,
At the onset of pubescence yet
More longed-for and more alien than our own.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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