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for Anouk Yeh
on not being able to send anything into these prisons
photocopy the poppies & fuchsia,
let the pale lilac filament burst in the machine,
let the colors bleed a million seeds in full bloom,
make the paper jam reggaeton
like wildflowers in the springtime,
fireworks in its hips.
print the poems that call the boys home.
then find the hardware shattering:
the rollers inside...