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Every night I dream of fathers, their bodies ferried away
into the far corner between sleep and waking.
Consider reduction—the five turkey vultures
making sleek dark circles above the field
this morning. They hunt by smell,. . .
From the kitchens where the gas is kept / beloved are the blues shining my shoulder / old potholes . . .
Ignore the rich: tax opposition has never been about liberty
Solidarity is the only viable path to the 2020 presidential election
In the NHS, black women and migrants still struggle to access adequate care