Poem of the Week: the salve trade by Fred Moten

all down on perdido street, from san juan to inglewood, up on that bridge, up where the soul trees grow by soul, dance to fantastic information while we kick off the modern world. the whistle sounded good like a kiss on a train. a track below us in the cabinet in the tunnel under theContinue reading “Poem of the Week: the salve trade by Fred Moten”