the writer does not write / the words that are there / or the words that are not . . .
One of us Has Gone Missing
Deleuze To know the difference between an object and another object is to place long reeds of grass between your teeth. The value of simple tasks like decomposition become a complicated thing when viewed through this prism. A man sits in a chair by the window and waits. Another man leaves the hospital with one less lung. Chained to the alignment of identity. Stars, perusal. One of us, I can’t be sure who, parades around the living room wearing nothing but a belt. The other one makes sense of the world by blotting out the spines of books. Raw experience“Craig Foltz”