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we are not scaling we are hunters in this drape called body we have / hardened our old selves pricked peeled consumed . . .
The narrator was shot by the sniper he was describing
and I quickly picked up his pen.
I, in – in the long ago time before time began to be
bound and tagged under humans’ watch – choate, went
in. . .
While labor leaders drag their feet about police unions, members demand radical change.
Notes on the end of funerals.
Two books consider how U.S. policy ravages the Northern Triangle.