THEATER STAR: Birth, the Curtain Rises
Birth, the Curtain Rises
Is it only an artificial haze sprayed across the sets on what appears to be a stage upon which the future will dance? I feel sought by its wet swirl reaching toward me, says Porous, in this darkened theatre in which I sense an audience of ghosts, a collective past to which I’m present enough to hear its shifts—as the gray, amorphous fingers continue from no visible source—no one yet in the wings. . . .
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