Ex-pose

Totally exposed on the market’s naked agenda, she found that the distance between birth and a bad merchandise selection was precisely the clock’s suggested interval; a sound like seven cars expiring into living tones of choked-out lies pretending fealty, or loyalty, or even simply attention. The reflection of the loved one’s face not on water or in living eyes, but screens projecting colored lights and advertisements. Little boxes we die because. We die into. We die before and for. In their light they store, in their steel they record; but not the rapes and deaths they shall arrange. Totally exposed, the distance between death and a fine telephone is precisely the selected spectacle it urgently demands that you receive. A light like force pushed into your eyes that never was before. The distance between that light and the real is forever.