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joy like a thorn, motive stripped to speed,
dreams of fall & pause & ache & fling
& sob, breasting up the tide of winds,
a tiny stinging heart thrust through the rain,
red as a star & hot as the spar of a blade
& ravenous as a stone slung stung & true
as the press of a pulse, gulp & strain & swoon,
grateful for the great of the air, its heat
& hurry, its height & heft, dreams of greed
for forthward, blood & breath shot sheer
till breath is needless, blood the same as air,
thought this thoughtless arc, this vault & veer,
heartless, perfect, perilous, unaware.
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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.
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