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Path shifting in the woods
With sunlight, darkness, and at dusk
The little voices
Returning to their nests.
First rule: there is
No one else.
Repeated in the trees
Behind the shopping mall,
Tiny breaths escaping from the larynx—
Follow me, follow me—
A knothole: two eyes
They vanish when a cloud slips past.
Beyond the arbor,
Scent of the lilacs, footprints
Leading from the kitchen
Over the dry grass, silver, moonlit—
Before the light turns
Indigo, nothing between
My face and finitude—the long
Time I will live a place
I don’t live now—
They sing, their black
Second rule: the absence
Of other people
Proves we’re alive.
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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.
Our well-being depends on a better understanding of how the logic of labor has twisted our relationship with pleasure.