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October 2013, vol 9, no 3

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Ashley Capes


Beneath the Duomo, cameras mill about like ants. Their owners are most dutiful, clicking then looking. inside my skull are painted green and white stripes and when I look back it is with some terror. I do not know if I wanted to go home. The air here is warm, eternal pink, as if trapped in a fairytale. The tourists are so alive, even as they kill the moment with SLR.

grand bells
crossing rooftops
our hands meet