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by Wade Dinius

Bewildered she clutched faces
With burst black eyes
Fixed forever on the East

Where once a Sun rose
With a breath imperial
Reeking of uncooked fish

A Sun craned agog over myriad rape
Girls lured with duck feet
Cleft then by lingham and brand

At its gruesome zenith
Brazen rays baked mown heads
Fatty stumps seeped scoria

With trembled scissors
The paper cut souls were crafted
Until each and every canthus was cut

And the scissors scored her soul
With trenches so unbearably deep
That the dead at last beheld shade.

Dedicated to the gifted historian Iris Chang (1968-2004), whose own life ended as terribly as those of whom she wrote.


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