Elsewhere

There is a back-of-the-closet poetry in the discards of our tool use, like the shavings that fall onto a carpenter’s floor. Even the exhaust of our frenetic lives tells a story, revealed in a bright shadow beneath our hurried feet, or like the tangled by-products carted out of a busy calendar factory.

Stowe Boyd, There is a back-of-the closet poetry in the discards of our tool use

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Notes

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