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	<title>Arte Soy</title>
	<link>http://artesoy.com</link>
	<description>I  +  am  =  Art</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Fri, 20 Jan 2012 00:40:56 +0000</lastBuildDate>
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	<language>en</language>
	
	<item>
		<title>Lunar Flora</title>
		<description><![CDATA[You are the sweat on the brow of a mother in her thirteenth hour of
labor. You are the fickle fingers of a child grazing a splintery fence
midday. You are a sixteen-syllable sentence uttered by a woman with
beautiful lips. You are the thousands of end-of-the-world kisses in
constant exchange at each terminal. You speak and rain falls [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2012/01/19/lunar-flora/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Corazon</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Mi piel frontera del dolor, sumisa
fiel puerta y cerrojo
de mi alma su camisa
reten de mi enojo
brava mi piel maltrata y reprime
la miel y el valor esconde
suda puta la vida mi piel y revive
gen asturiano gaita y monte
 
reviento tras la oda concebida
como efecto de la implosión
causa en el brillo que cegato mutila
por oro, bolsillo y mano sin perdón
 
mantel, cubiertos de [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2012/01/19/corazon/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Innocence</title>
		<description><![CDATA[


Running from the past, clinging to a future
Hanging out and hanging on
Looking for a form 
The mercurial mind projects a firm figure
 Friend or foe?
Instant karma by calculation, the mass equation
Fight, flight, or fornication
And still I am instilled, my cup refilled
By grace, whim or force of will 
Doth spill on the dark night, a light [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2011/02/10/innocence/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Line Breaks, con sal.</title>
		<description><![CDATA[You make me die,
a little bit,
each day,
without even the tremendous helping hand
of time
By sundown, I&#8217;m but a million morsels
of decay
as atoms reverse their tap dance
in a delayed orbit
around each eye full of almonds:
two salty caverns
Your torture is as exclusive as it is
elusive,
swift, comparable to
a mere drizzle of honey; it&#8217;s funny
But not in a healthy way
(Sarah [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/09/10/line-breaks-con-sal/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Old Earth</title>
		<description><![CDATA[My soul longs for old earth
no roads
machines
senseless noise
Just the wings of birds cutting through the air
The sound of sunlight as it rains through the leaves
The heartbeat of the planet as it throbs and moves and becomes
all
Rain falling and pooling and running down the rocks and washes, dancing on the leaves,
soaking ever so gently into the [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/06/02/old-earth/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>SUDDEN POEM</title>
		<description><![CDATA[SUDDEN POEM, APRIL 2010
STANLEY GEMMELL
&#8220;Before I praise the dead I should like to point out by what
principles of action we rose to power&#8230;&#8221; THUCYDIDES * Funeral Speech
To the claim of excellence
And a privileged place in the earth
We are of one  mind
Seduced and thrown
By the voice of a woman
Of the slain hosts of men
Who before [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/04/29/sudden-poem/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Melvin Bravo live at Nikki&#8217;s birthday jam</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Melvin Bravo live at Nikki&#8217;s birthday jam
]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/04/07/melvin-bravo-live-at-nikkis-birthday-jam/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Get Low</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Get Low
]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/03/27/get-low/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Stream of Consciousness</title>
		<description><![CDATA[I stood at your grave,with fists full of change, change in the  form of words,words I couldn&#8217;t previously say, due to tides of  time,ebbing and flowing in the form ofchange, change in the form  of words,words I collect in a felt hat, asI busk for saplings  of change,change in the form [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/03/20/stream-of-consciousness/</link>
			</item>
	<item>
		<title>Five Dense Minutes</title>
		<description><![CDATA[2:58 am: My feet are almost as calloused as your hands always were. These hands are virginal apparati with a texture similar to that of honey or warmed dough. Virtually unmarred and scrape-free. Clearly, they do not make nearly enough.
3:02 am: My head is buried in my pillow now and I&#8217;m thinking this can&#8217;t be [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://artesoy.com/2010/03/15/five-dense-minutes/</link>
			</item>
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