By Rocket Caleshu

I am thinking that
to make thinking new again
is torch-lit work, subterranean
and exalted. Antarctica, Goethe,
Methuselah. Seven hills of Rome.
An advertisement for a summer farming gig
on a homestead in Alaska puzzles me:
imagine harvesting kale through days
of unrepentant 24-hour sunlight,
covered in mosquitoes. How do you do
the things in the dark when there is no dark?
I want now to tell you abt my love
for my whip, for killing the engine and sitting
in the garage. This is also an ancient

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