From the library to the book; from the book to the word. Let’s start by highlighting the glaring use of light by Natalie Diaz in her collection Postcolonial Love Poem – and in her podcast with Tin House – only to turn to the hidden touch of delight in the repetition of the word thigh.
O the virtue of ignorance! So much nothing in this Doom life! Here’s the thing: who’s going to read this? Ask anyone but me. By Hercules, no one, not one person, no single body. Either sing a duet or be dumb in silence. Nothing between. “How deplorable to be deploring of art!” (There’s no basket […]