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To be very young and beached on a couch.
Describe this feeling as rubber,
warm to the touch,
lodged in the chest.
In a cabin in the mountains, see bluish fog
or the rogue sky coming
to dislodge stone habit. To stand by
stood up against surprise—
a valve that lets another consciousness arrive.
For a figurine slung from the ceiling
see a fat-bellied hen, see a flat fish,
a glassed leaf, a blinking desert built,
like tonight, out of lightning.
I’m on a mountain, rocking in its side.
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How would I know / when I’m empty and quiet like breath?
Historian Gerald Horne has developed a grand theory of U.S. history as a series of devastating backlashes to progress—right down to the present day.
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.