single channel loop
Last night my ____ accidentally shot ____ in the face with a .22 caliber rifle.
The bullet remains forever lodged in ____ skull.
We are not burying ____, but we carry ____ in our mind’s eye.
A formless structure, netted between our neurons.
Afterall, isn’t the scarification of the mind equivalent to the construction of a haunted house.
Our age is correlated to the ghost’s we haul around within us.
I can remember ____ when I was a child, putting on ____ prosthetic leg.
The awe of a new leg.
A body extension.
A plastic appendage grafted with gravity.
I gazed from my _____ kitchen at ___ hopping around my ____ backyard on one leg.
___ trembled two beats before stopping and ____ leaned over.
____peeled up a pant leg, revealing a luminous ball of smooth flesh, rounded off by the blade of a skilled surgeon.
The skin of that appendage glows, expands to fill a room.
The room becomes a house.
A house becomes a city.
____ is here, the corpuscles of ___ leg bleeding from one mnemonic recall to the next.
The appendage becomes an artifact.
The artifact becomes an appendage.
At ___ house.
In ____ yard, where ____ is carrying ____ lighting kits.
____ played in a band a long time ago.
_____ says ____ was talented.
I don’t know.
I was too young and now I’m too old to believe in the validity of my memories.
The gaps in time from then and now experience a broad expansion in their breadth.
Was it yesterday or was it yesteryear?
I can’t differentiate the real from the electric.
I can’t remember.