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The sunset’s slow catastrophe of reds
and bruised blues
leaches the land to its green and grey.
Light thins over the wood; black
colors in each notch and furrow
at the day’s closing-down.
The only sounds are bled,
and far away:
the bronchitic cough of an axe
and the lowing roar of distant chainsaws
starting and falling, like cattle
calling out to be milked.
And so I wait here, as usual,
in the crushed silence of tinder: steeped,
stepped in shadow,
under the appalling pines.
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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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