He's not, though; no better and no worse. He looks like someone he would know. He touches his cheeks, runs his finger down the bridge of his new nose. When he cries Callahan stares at the cabinets until he's got hold of himself.
"Mainstream poetry draws upon our consensual reality of the everyday world for its content and backdrop. Speculative poetry is drawn from the imagination, the world as it might be."
I am now half the monster I used / to be.
