Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Self-Indulgent Story

I travel the city; slow, indulgent window shopping and switchbacks. I am outside of it watching. To work, to live, to explore, I see myself. I am outside of myself; watching. Every place has a past. Artifacts surround me, support me. There is a hunger for more, escape. I haunt the city.
Places have two meanings. There is a secret lens through which to see the second and it enshrouds us; two in a bubble. At this strip of green there is Hungarian wine, below the swing set are tracks in the snow made by red shoes,


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