A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
The light is water driven through old gears and red lights sweep the streets looking for the lost while flaking brick simmers in itself like stew, and black graffiti … Continue reading →
Photograph by W. Eugene Smith, c. 1955 . Bug-eyed in those glare-filled goggles, He’s gauntleted and cassocked, garbed To be garbed in fire, which forms a lake On the floor … Continue reading →
i. You’d see them in the railyard, Coupled and waiting in line To be topped off with that cargo Tapped from the blast furnaces: Magma they’d freight nightly Along … Continue reading →
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