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46 Fa‘a Fafine Poem Number Four At a church in Edinburgh thousands of missionary children gathered in a hall decked with idols suspended from the roof Stone, wooden, and woven shadows of the worshipped cast in the fires of Europe While their souls fled where? Into what dark pit hole of Hell? Here where their shadows weave Here I weave a taulaitu They say Hell is a bad naughty hole A church going blood once informed me that I’m a hole Something we had in common Recently a painter in L.A. she said to me, Oh the hole is a source of pleasure! Besides, we were all born in sacred holes I’m a hole, you’re a hole Life is sweet like Sugar cane ...

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