The New Anak

of the moonlight fell upon his soft heel that he was, himself in his shoes, hip boots, acid of himself. He heard. The grating of himself, against the wood leaf shingle of the neighborhood where Minna Street ended. Where he would have liked for it to end. Not in the bare light where he saw last night’s cat, the light of its eyes as bright as his own, all seeing beyond the windows, beyond these conjured images of his hearing. of the moonlight fell upon his soft heel that he was, himself in his shoes, hip boots, acid of himself.