And, thus, is the left-hand side filled with pages and bales and stacks.
Tutuola tells us that angry dead babies have no questions.
Listen, the author says.
Did the poet return from the hurricane?
we are found in the shadow of syntax
Some combs have missing teeth, and this is where your hair fought back.
we do not know the language of plants, their seductions and chores
a voice is trapped within a rock in a wave that travels to otherworlds and otherways
Not even minor clerks are spared.
You might hear distress calls.