When I hold the pigeon,white as sun-bright,
when I feel the boneand muscle, the delicate
I am dumb as death—the city swallows us.
It’s not new, this condition, just for awhile kept deep in the cortex of things imagined
What is the genesis of art in a repressive society? In Iran, repression has ruled in one form or another for the last half century and still, the voice of the people rings out around it. As Iran’s recent manifestations of state power take a...
