desired delusion
In the hour for actions reversed, the eye shifts into attention after the face is gone. Where is the matter when what lived is lined up for erasure by the image? Touched-up, retouched, rendered from raw into perfect abstraction, acres of rendered flesh are stored in server silos beyond the reach of any of any creature’s touch.
what flows
Hand to hem, a plea
that what moves may pass
into the waiting vessel
not to be contained
but held until the next
to return that volume
to another mouth.
Re-visioning histories.
We returned to touch, to reading texture to see what we could learn about thinking well and by well we meant in a different direction from the killing machines. To the speech of our bodies, to save them––ours, and any others still here.
