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I looked for it in the afterlight lapping the edge
of the long valley. I sought it in canopy, in the horizon’s
fringe, past. . .
In the polaroid in a drawer of the housethe other relatives picked over, I’m the blur in the background,
mop of silvery. . .
I, in – in the long ago time before time began to be
bound and tagged under humans’ watch – choate, went
in. . .
Frida Kahlo meets with Andre Breton in Paris, and things go downhill.
On bids to reform blood donation policy for men who have sex with men.
Canada’s lucrative animation industry is hollowing out an art form