Code: 12505190
"Spinoza is rubbing my glasses again, leaving / the middle range blurred for a reason. / Any truth is a blur," Barbara Carlson begins one poem, then carries us to Spinoza's periphery with Miro, Chekhov and Jesus in quick order. Tr ... more
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"Spinoza is rubbing my glasses again, leaving / the middle range blurred for a reason. / Any truth is a blur," Barbara Carlson begins one poem, then carries us to Spinoza's periphery with Miro, Chekhov and Jesus in quick order. Truth is not only a blur, bu
109.35 zł
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