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Radiance crosses a room like
A fever-canister, brief salvo,
Desire’s name caught without rescue
Above boy-romp and traffic.
Out in the thrashing sun-
Light I see how nightshade
Hauls itself up the storm
Fence like a convict, jangles
Its deadly little flowers. It
Isn’t love makes me thus
Connect, we hoist and carry
All that for what we
Got no name. Chigger-brash
The sorrel’s weedy obligados thrive
In sun where you are
Nameless and I am coming.
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Feminist philosophers Kate Soper and Lynne Segal discuss the unsustainable obsession with economic growth and consider what it might look like if we all worked less.
Epiphanies can prompt us to view the world differently, a new book contends. But they are no substitute for ethical and political debate.
Harm reduction strategies, like those pioneered by queer men of color, have the best chance of stopping this disease.