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You look down and see mud where the post office
used to be. Your hat is made of hammers but you
are not afraid. You look to the east where the advent
calendar hangs. Just beside the mountain range you
hear a pack of wolves entering a deep sleep. This is
where I was last year, you think. Except last year
never happened and tomorrow is a bowl of oranges.
Now you have your glove back. You go up the stairs
once again. Counting one two three and eighty
as you climb to the top of the building. You look up
and the sky is filled with feathers. You look up
and the merchant you met yesterday is baking pies.
This is where the ship went too far west and fell
from the world into the sea. You reach the zenith
of the staircase. They told you Dave was looking
for you. He wanted to help you button your coat.
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Reflecting on three monumental works of modernism—James Joyce’s Ulysses, T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, and Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus—a hundred years on.
Both regulators and employers have embraced new technologies for on-the-job monitoring, turning a blind eye to unjust working conditions.
But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.