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That faded sign, you know the one I mean,
where the ocean lurches like a drunk–
we can't read it, but rest assured,
what it says is not encouraging:
neither only love is warmer
nor best place for the moon.
Right now a woman is tucking
into a wonderful salad
on the other side of the island–
it took the year for her to think
of it again. Dogs race around
peeing on one another with aplomb.
At night everyone is warned away;
they spend this time grasping
for other words for blue.
Here comes someone else we will
miss and miss again–
not that you're not staying here,
but the village is clever,
even at rest.
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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.