"I'm making my final cut in the bar of a very large boat, in the North Channel of the Irish Sea, in something the captain alleges is a 'light swell'. This thing seemed like the, uh, Titanic when we were in Belfast, but now feels like a rubber duck in a bathtub. The sea reduces everything to a cork, and there's a brutal democracy to all this that sits perfectly, I suppose, with the brutal anonymity of the Poetry Competition. Which is more than I can say for my breakfast."
This entry was posted by Ivy
on Tuesday, January 15, 2008 at 5:48 PM.
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