The Brooklyn Rail is participating in the 2019 Venice Biennale
ahlan wa sahlan note a poem o receive it here as it charades onto history's gauzy list
No, in a shed
under the machine
You stopped brushing; then
you resumed brushing
The fallout mustnt be monitored
I wont die at a party like this, falling over the contortions in my gut or floating over the whirlpool of cups...
One of my basic human dilemmas
goes something like, Does metaphor
contain us, or do we extend ourselves
out into it?
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