An apocalyptic reflection, sprung from the desire for and resistance to form. A multimedia encounter with, and a rogue theory about, a canonical poem by William Butler Yeats. A collaboration with the dead. The seeds for this were an undergraduate essay written in 2000 in Boston that my professor never read, a Tiny Talk given in 2016 to a group of poets in Brooklyn, a silent retreat in Glendalough (Ireland), and night walks in a dark field on the east end of Long Island.

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