there’s no place

From Corita Kent’s rules for students and teachers.

Interlude IV

The clouds fat with snow
The moment before dehiscence
The portent in the air
The virus crackles and hisses

The sated heave of home
There’s no place
Like your place
In this world

This is winter in Jamaica Plain, MA on 01/03/22 at 7:21 a.m.

“We began dreaming of new ways forward. May we not return to ‘normal’ and its toxic expectations of productivity and hustle. May we all listen to the body for sustainable ways forward.”

—Camisha L. Jones / on her poem “On Working Remotely & No Longer Commuting with Chronic Pain”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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