GM 🐚
‘the world is a tireless regress of rooms,
no final exit, no curtain’s edge stunned
in daylight—only a maze of interiors,
each no more inward than the next … but then,
the very notion has grown unbearable
to the man, his skin filling with the ebb
of radio and distant cars, a woman’s hand
putting a polish on the heart’s shell,
flush, as shells are, with rumor,
magnificent and hopeless as the sea.’
- Bruce Bonf
The Seat of Memory