When will you tire of sitting next to doors, feeding animals and children, even in the dark ages women kept guard at night, the sky rushed back as if it had forgotten something and the sun became the number one fuel, there one moment and the next, tapping its head till it grew light and we finally undressed, turned sleeves inside out, the light so deep we watched it, settled ba (...)
Poetry
Admitting We Were Born
—Stuart Friebert
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