WHEN THE BIRD IS NOT A HUMAN floats the reader through domestic structures. Here, stillness ruptures the domestic hum. Here, rooms are animated principles haunted by dreams and revisitations. When every room in the house leads to a road inside a cloud under a lake, we wake in the double-take as we walk through the doorway again. What seems inanimate, isn't. "Poets and philosophers have long engaged the question of what it is we do when we name...
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Poetry