Tricks of the Trade Jack Hanson In Emily Hallβs βThe Longcut,β an artist prevaricates endlessly about the nature of her work.
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A Violent Enterprise Adewale Maja-Pearce British colonialism casts a long shadow over modern Nigeria.
A Violent Enterprise Adewale Maja-Pearce British colonialism casts a long shadow over modern Nigeria.
The Long Crisis on Rikers Island Brendan O’Connor How New York lost control of its most infamous jail complex
Poems for the Unemployed: ap1.doc Grayson Del Faro [ββ] blood runs green and the [βββββ] one i will let let me / i will let it run me good and green into its pockets until i donβt run at all / i will simply fall in / i am a whole entire [βββ] but i can be yours for a small monthly fee [ββ] it could all be / every red cent around [ββββ] how do i [ββββ] / how do i convince you i tell you that βI am the ideal candidateβ [ββββ] that i give more than i can, that i would even [βββ] suck up [βββββ] my own desire, as if i desire more labor, less time / as if any desire were left un-bled-dry / it ripens with age but in the dire [ββββ] we realize it gets squeezed my experience includes a childhood best friendβs mother / she restocked hallmark cards at walmart / babysitter-less we went with and worked too, ripping the bags apart and letting the glitter fall on us, shining like [βββ] we lit up this way / [ββ] help her to [βββ] herself / to finish her degree and make good on her ascent to some grace / more than good, when we left she would give [ββ] money for our time / so time and time again i turned minutes untimidly [ββ] dimes / no wonder of its worth, to [βββ] fair / when she slipped those few little green dollars into my glittery fist, i came to be [βββ] / my eyes sparkled more than my hands that was my first [ββ] at least i let her be my first boss / more than cash i [ββββ] think she paid us in light / years later she said she cried when i stopped being friends with her son / these eyes still glimmer but dull hands [ββ] not / when [βββββ] ends, it ends [ ] [ββββ] me / you can do any vile thing you want to me isnβt that what you want to hear / the sinister minimum slipping into acceptance is [βββ] fault / isnβt it a fault line / at least a fault of mine is mostly that [ββββ] of my best is yours / yet still i see over all these [βββββ] flat words [ββββ] that canβt get a rise / not even from a sun / as if the idea [βββ] is set in bloodred stone that never is my everyday [ββββ] evergreen without your leverage pressing me into profit / professionally i confess i learned how to convert stress into jewels [ββββ] worth something but never precious / i proffered them / they sold / they didnβt weigh me down like words [ββ] / some born like burdens / i babysat as a teenage boy / it was unlike [βββ] only [βββ] for me [β] it couldβve been [ββββββ] beauty but it was ugly crying and [ββββ] / i mean me / also the babies / i had my first beer then / bitter, bidden by my uncle [βββ] a smile [ββββββ] as a part of [ββββ] life: the white-washing a wood fence [βββ] like babysitting [ββββββ] this included: those weekends of work and family / my aunt taught me how to knead pizza dough, how to drive stick it stuck in mind and it didnβt suck then but nevermind time [ββββ] is drained and now iβm begging not to be [βββ] any more than you will let / let me be
Vivian Maier Considers Heaven from a Bench in Rogers Beach Park Chicago Shane McCrae In Heaven nobody will be alone In Heaven except for me and nobody Nobody calls nobody comes My nobody expands across the country The way a parachute expands across The sky it does if youβre right under it In Heaven theyβll throw me in the lost And found where I guess everybody goes At first now that I think about it what Will be my special place apart I wonder Or will they leave me in the lost And found box after they have scooped the heaven- ly out a permanent person in a tem- porary place roles are reversed in Heaven Nobody calls nobody comes In Heaven I expect the children are A kind of furniture nobody sits on Like flowers in Manhattan maybe sometimes Theyβre brought to God and God says This one And that ottoman is sent back to life A baby and for some this seems to never Happen I think Iβm such a child returned Most things in my life seemed to never Happen before they happened now they seem to Have never happened though they have for the time Being I am for now Iβm stuck in most Things having never happened Iβm A lamp shining in an abandoned building But for a lamp I think that would be Heaven
