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As you may’ve heard? The machines whirred…
Ahem. I hum along, go, go choral during chores.
Idle tittle-tattle relates: someone else is it! Out, out,
wherever you are… As we rest inch locked in local traffic.
At least the wind’s direct. Skylines—swart hordes,
jutting high stacks—intermit smoke. Mid replica and
replica, populous, inhabiting the ad hoc, many seek to hide.
Me? I’m available, out in the yard.
Geoff Bouvier's first book, Living Room, won the 2005 APR/Honickman Prize. His work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Denver Quarterly, jubilat, New American Writing, and other journals. He lives in San Diego.
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Draconian individual punishment distracts from systemic change and reinforces the cruelest and most racist system of incarceration on the planet.
Our well-being depends on a better understanding of how the logic of labor has twisted our relationship with pleasure.
“I was my father’s son. My father was Nai Nai’s least favorite.” A Taiwanese American man, driven from home by a secret, reevaluates his childhood memories of his grandmother.