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Ownerless—without flag. We rest
pregnant, hold full of fish, their eyes
still focused. Mere fog—man in a cap,
man in fingerless gloves—
why do I accrete more than spice
as I sit, bundled in winter wool.
Mist and motion telegraph the scent—
why do I continue to shave in the convex
bowl of a copper pot or slip on a deck
slick with blood and scales—to write
‘today he masters a pistol
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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.