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Now I lay my iceberg to sleep
His 7/8 kicking at comforter
Sebastian, he endures icicles
that perforate what his life should be.
for I have calved him
& what of St. who lies under the 98°
I did not make him up—I summoned the ice-
& he delivered exclamations
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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.