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And what of the driver, trapped between metal
and more metal, metal and water, water and time?
A concrete island, a wish for loosening,
a confrontation with his mother nineteen
years ago, too close to tell anybody, now
bored by tears in this condition of you,
abandoned, outside of town, it comes to us
quickly, northbound. Think of it as a loop
bound to a tunnel, cautioning an electric cathedral,
weakness, a hipbone resting against what you call
a tree seen near water. Imagine yourself named.
Listen to yourself shutting both up and down.
Imagine yourself, remembering daylight savings
for once, only better, your only knowledge is
one of desire and now it can be just. You
forget to breathe, and this, look, moving, this
does it for you. Icicle lights. Fountain gates.
Pressurized air locks more than enough you
into you. A shrapneled soldier who only wants
to go back is worth that trouble. Think of this,
oblique and finite, rushing in as though water
could change to pears and honey. If it’s me
you’re here for, say so, Cincinnati, listen,
if you were beautiful, there’d be no need for this.
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In his new book, philosopher William MacAskill appears to value humanity’s long-term survival far more than preventing short-term suffering and death. His arguments are shaky.
In her new book, Danish poet Olga Ravn writes with open love, pity, and compassion for her strange yet familiar creations.
Draconian individual punishment distracts from systemic change and reinforces the cruelest and most racist system of incarceration on the planet.