CUCURKUMA
I'm just about broken now. My
alphabet is gone, and my concrete
shoes are drawing me down. Hand
signals won't work, and a flotation
collar is out of the question for sure.
Give me a smoke before I die; it won't
matter now to start a habit. I'm tired
but I'm lucid. I'm rabid but not insane.
-
Running from everything - the guardians
of Istanbul, the dining room dishes of Orhan
Pamuk, the heights of old Cucurkuma.
Bring me back home, please.
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