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His eyes devoid him of the end.
Those who uphold life in the form of water
often drop death in the form of earth.
Carrots and peas and please go away.
A child who never lived where always did.
My fingers through the woeface feel your face.
I sank my youth to the half in the cry that loved me.
You wage the world in your flesh
daily watching lovers forge duplicate keys.
Day my hands have cast away until
it has their fall.
Afterwards I stood there stirring the loss.
Unlike me all this takes place in the open.
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But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.
The vast hinterlands of the Global South’s cities are generating new solidarities and ideas of what counts as a life worth living.
Protests in China are shining a light not only on the country’s draconian population management but restrictions on workers everywhere.