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John Leavitt is a writer and artist. He lives in New York City.
When there’s only enough light in the hall
to imagine a heaped shirt is the cat, to see
the books stacked on. . .
O capacious room,
give me your tongues.
I’m done with being self-
possessed. Take hold, turn
the river in me.
I know this dream like the lines of my hand: a spark, unplanned.
One of the best stories in Africa today is linked to one of the worst stories in America’s past.
Ignore the rich: tax opposition has never been about liberty
Solidarity is the only viable path to the 2020 presidential election