The body has a clarity
Between high and low hierarchies
tenebras et luces.
He would be undone
Who for too long scorns
Either throng to court the other.
Vengeance is mine clamors
Each. Angel bright of
Intellection, her glittering
Sword sends straight to
Heaven. Angel dark of
Palpitation, her furious
Pockets bulge with victims.
No body, any body.
Does a body lie between
For habitation? A clarity
Of green stretches between
Heavenly chant and infernal refrain.
There, the body rests
From the heat of the day
In the shade of a cultivated tree.
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“Hope,” wrote the German-American polymath Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy, “is the deity of youth.” Wholly dependent on adults, children…
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I am writing not to address any particular article, but rather to register my concern about the…