At dawn the nation is empty Its vast swaths of emptiness expanding Expanses of nothingness, echoing and unfilled spaces Nightly, the same void dotted with different islands Collected archipelegos, never empty but always choking Wholly clogged; beaver-dammed arteries; three-hundred million hearts beating Even in the emptiest places the soul tries to i…
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The Nation. The Nation. The Nation.
A new poem and video for an Easter Sunday and a new regime
Apr 20, 2025
∙ Paid











