the whole game incised

Festive music warbles in the cafe behind me, but I am the only customer here. The wind is moving trash in the empty street. I imagine releasing the lot I hold in my hand and permitting it to escape along this street. The trembling stars shout down to me, and the life that is in me shouts back. That I know I’m living goes up levels in me like surf rising against tide marks. I’ve never been to the ocean, never seen it. How can I use such metaphors? -Michael Cisco, The Narrator


~ by ironcupshrug on 11/17/2011.

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