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We found her in Socorro etched
on a tombstone in a cemetery that’s changed
public and private hands, though it’s. . .
we are not scaling we are hunters in this drape called body we have / hardened our old selves pricked peeled consumed . . .
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. . .
Invisibility and Platonic justice in the #MeToo era
Many “independent” contractors are anything but.
A false dichotomy haunts Democratic immigration reform.