George Bradley

You fell into it like someone falling through a doorand found yourself in a cozy nightmare of spotlights,naked onstage in a tiny theater where the audiencewore masks and wasn’t above slapping you around. Your performance was subject to criticism from the start,your size and shape and every breath you took measuredagainst an impossible ideal that would be the first of many,the graded assessment gentle at first, isn’t he cunning, only to gain rigor over time, Son, if you don’t shoot

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