|sky like paper|
Alex gave me an early birthday present, one of eight copies of his book NINETEENSEVENTYSEVEN, handmade and with a warning: "this may not be your cup of tea."
I answered: "Your tea is my coffee. Your mystery is my metaphor." I put the book up to my cheek and brushed the rough paper. I put my eyes to the dappled, thick paper inside. I put my mind to the images and felt it warp.