Somnambulist: 2025

Overture

In the days before,

I was a ghost to myself…

an apparition,

shadows of forgotten sin.

The City, my only home,

became a fearful prison—

concrete walls closed in

from every direction.

In desperation, I ran away,

freeing myself,

losing myself.

I wandered through the wilderness.

Like a dreamer trapped

in a nightmare,

I struggled to find my way.

Abandoned to chaos,

Death tracked me down.

but

Saviors and Scourges

served to guide me through

to safe passage

and I was not overcome.

From the perspective of

distance,

I came to find

my reason,

to find my purpose.

I ran headlong,

back into the wilderness,

back to Death,

and I was not afraid.

Today,

I recount my story,

so that I never forget.

Part 1

In the days of neither

memory nor prophecy,

when a City spanned

the history of

men and women,

there existed a concept

and they used to dance,

before the poltergeists rose up

against their masters and

defiled their graves.

I was a ghost then,

alone in the world of housed and

harbored fugitives.

I was invisible, then.

Intoxicated with the power

found in writing memoirs,

the policrats lived in

seclusion, communicating

in double-talk, on the backs

of books and boxes of kitchen

matches.

I was sick, then, and

could no longer sleep with

the lights off, but

their invisible heat

brought on fits of fever

and hallucination.

This was before human machines,

but after the distrusting public

sought retribution from

the pigs they had slaughtered.

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the

My days followed suit.

repetition was habitual,

and coffee was my drug.

It seemed easier then,

when the wind or

inclement weather,

the strays, the homeless,

the sheep, the shepherd,

when they were against

me.

This was a time of asphalt

and concrete towers;

when the last trees

were housed by museums.

This was the time of Reality.

Though it seemed that

everyone begged

the question,

they marched on

orders received

orders followed…

until the headaches, the nose bleeds,

and the fevers began,

hot

throbbing pulse

bllluuurr-vision

intensity.

sight was granted

Pain.

I followed…

Escape. digging the

tunnel out with my hands

the dirt beneath my nails

and a man standing over me

armed, razor-wire grin,

mirrored aviators,

"Not today, boy."

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the lonely pile

curled

alone on the floor

tears and sweat and bleeding

waking up there

My days followed suit.

repetition was habitual,

and coffee was my drug.

They warn us about sleep, especially

in the Amrika City Truth Department.

so I strain, I fight,

I sleepwalk.

Dreams are terrifying.

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

coffee break

my shaky hands

fingertips stained, nicotine

breathe in…

cough out

an angry lung

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

evening meals: dinner

micro-wave

glowing box dinners

I sit in front of that box.

my shadow, I'm sure,

along with my lay-z-boy;

imprinted memories on the back wall,

like a Hiroshima silhouette,

a fitting chalk outline

fuzz and monotone:

time for bed.

Dreams are terrifying.

They told us so, and

the power of a lie

lies with its believability.

dreams are figments

two pills, nightly

medicated sleep…

until the ulcer

indigestion

weight-loss

anemia

impurities were purged

by blood and bile

and

pain

I listened, I followed, I took the pills…

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the sleeping zombie

heavy eye droop

potions and voodoo by night

potions and voodoo by day

secrecy, but

they know

they bewitched me.

My days followed suit.

repetition was habitual,

and coffee was my drug.

They warn us about sleep,

especially in the Truth

department.

so I strain,

I fight,

I sleepwalk.

Dreams terrify me.

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

coffee break

my shaky hands

finger tips stained, nicotine

breathe in

cough out

an angry lung

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

evening meals: dinner

micro-wave

glowing box dinners

I sit in front of that box.

fuzz and monotone

pitch…

the sun has long set

oh god, it's night

again

two pills

glass of milk of magnesia—

I refuse

a clear field,

long and picturesque

deep emerald grass

shades far greener than any other

a girl…

running

towards me?

no, the dogs are chasing

gaining on her

oh god, they're right there

she darts by

girl dog

dog

dog dog dogdog dog

dog dogdog dog

dogdogdog dog dog

dog dogdog dog

dog

oh god, they've ____

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the fictional writer,

writing daily encyclopedias

rewriting history to suit today

"it's the Truth,"

they say

but I know better

but I know obedience.

My days followed suit.

repetition was habitual,

and coffee was my drug.

They warn us about dreams,

especially in the Truth

department.

So I strain,

I fight,

I sleepwalk.

Sleeping terrifies me.

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

coffee break

my shaky hands

finger tips stained, nicotine

breathe in…

breathe fire…

men with no names,

faces like evil itself

chasing

biting fighting

tricking

shaking me

confusion?

faces over me

coworkers—

forced smile,

cigarette

breathe out smoke

back to work

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

evening meals: dinner

micro-wave

glow box dinners

I sit in front of that box.

fuzz and monoto—

LIGHT

all lights,

safety

a book

The Proper Technique of Presentation:

Forms x-127.78, .86, .43, and .07

Chapter 1: Cover Sheets

hours…

sunlight?

dawn is safety

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the paranoid.

My days followed suit.

repetition was habitual,

and coffee was my drug.

They warn us about sleeping,

especially in the Truth

department.

so I strain,

I fight,

I the somnambulist.

Thoughts of the dream terrify me.

Cubicle, faceless screen

I type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep…

coffee break

black

with nothing in it, just coffee,

black…

surrounding me, swirling

the shadows creep up

up the walls

up my spine

they live

smiling, like children in

grim fairy tales

they're coming for me.

you know, they lie

blink—

confusion?

cigarette

Cubicle, faceless screen

I stare blankly at it,

it stares blankly back at me

type papers

Form x-127.78, with blank cover

sheets

like the white cloth of death

the one they drape over cadavers,

you know, the John's and Jane's

all with the same last name

Duplicate

Triplicate

clonecloneclonecloneclonecloneclone

yellow copy, keep…

evening meals: dinner

microwavable

Glowbox™ dinners

I sit in front of that box.

fuzz and monotone blasting

LIGHT

all lights,

safety?

suffocating

solitude like hell

alone,

imprisoned?

what is my crime?

as the prosecutor peers over me

contempt in his eyes

beady little red eyes

in sharp contrast with his grotesque

face—pale pink

fat

with thin legs, like an anorexic ballerina

why are they after me?

my crimes are my own…

they're coming after me?

I have to get out!

they'll cook me alive in here

HELP HELP!

HELP ME!!!

the air's too thin to speak

my lungs burn…

I should quit smoking,

but it calms my nerves

but that's not important, now…

I have to get help

I have to get out.

I need air

the balcony

the air

the height—

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the naked body

shivering

unconscious

thankfully

My days followed suit.

habit was too repetitive,

and coffee was my drug.

though I'm teetering on

the morality of sedatives…

They warn us about drugs,

especially in the Truth?

department.

so I strain,

I fight,

I sleepwalk.

Thoughts of last night terrify me

too unreal

too unimagined…

they warn us about dreaming

have i been dreaming?

Cubicle, faceless screen

I stare blankly at it,

but

type papers

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet

all the same

Duplicate

Triplicate

yellow copy, keep

coffee break

shaky hands…

stench of burning

like my lungs

smoldering

a half-smoked cigarette,

staring at it—

poison?

I breathe in deeply

exhale smoke

and smirk

how to get out of here…

i have to leave, of course,

I'm sick.

Cubicle, faceless screen

I stare blankly at it,

but

type nothing

I collapse

exhaustion, they say; but I know

that they know that I've been dreaming

have I dreamt?

do I have dreams?

too abstract

fill out Work Medical Leave Form k-326

Duplicate

triplicate

yellow copy, keep

but, maybe, I won't…

I've never seen the city during work hours.

buildings—concrete,

no windows…

the Truth Department strongly

suggested to

the Builders' Guild

"windows promote idleness"

like gears?

no, more precise

scurrying, heads down,

green lights, cross walks

no traffic delays

perfection

I've overheard from the streetwalkers,

those invisible drunkards, they claim

that there were times:

chaos, jams, congestion

but not now—perfection

beautiful, inorganic and forced

digital perfection.

he sees me,

shiny uniform

badge, gun… always a gun

sunglasses?

not mirrored, thank god,

I can see his eyes…

"You are not in your proper place.

Where are your leave papers?"

-panic-

why was I so brash?

what was I thinking?

I've heard what they do with

the lazy

search the brief-case, eyes down

don't let him see them

FEAR

please, let it be here

yellow and crinkled…relief

"Go back to your quarters and sleep."

i'm safe

safe?

am I safe?

is it safe?

the door shut behind me

did it lock?

ah, television…

you'll keep me occupied, yes?

Power… static

click… static

click clickclick

click clickclickclickclick click

click click click click…..stati—

power.

to sleep, perchance to be terrorized?

hmmmm…

perhaps, I'll risk

and go for a walk.

empty.

patrols go by,

I don't think they notice me,

I don't think that they're looking for me.

paranoid, still,

crossing streets leaves me open

vulnerable

a zebra asking for a death-grip

and barrel-roll

run?

we don't run, here…

I haven't run since

before this time

since there were no

since I was—

what was I before now?

I must have been

not what I am, now?

hunger.

strange how we take things for granted

I eat at the Truth Department

I eat out of my freezer

food?

I buy my food,

eat my food

digest my food

shit my food…

what makes my food?

I heard there was a time

evening meals: dinner

micro-wave

glowing box dinners

I sit in front of that box.

I leave it off.

exhausted to pacification

beyond self torment and fear

I think I'll sleep, tonight.

sounds…

I've never heard,

but

voices?

I've been here before

sterile white walls

no windows: overcome laziness…

who are these people?

uniforms?

screaming!

panic

why?

LEAVE ME ALONE!

me?

me…

I the ghost

I the figment

I the half-hearted lie

I the history-less.

history…

they tell me who I am

what I was before the present

but I have no…

no…

past.

My day followed suit.

habit was too repetitive,

and had holes and

gaps lead to questions.

they warn us about questions…

especially at the truth department

but they lie, anyway, don't they?

Cubicle, faceless screen

I stare blankly at it,

but…

type papers?

what if they weren't

Form x-127.78, with cover sheet?

I've seen what words can do

what if i were to…

no—

not now, not here

not when they can see me…

what if i were to leave?

I need a smoke break…

shaky hands…

push more dirt out of my way

a little more…painstaking care

fresh air

sweet taste

inhale

the search light's coming

pause

slowly

in the open

pounding

pulse is too loud, they'll hear me

the guns—

creep…

pause

the gunners have to see me,

why are they toying with me?

am I in their sights?

I have to continue

shhhh…not now, heart…

pause

move

creep

duck down

pause

this tempo is excruciating

an opening?

don't think, it takes too long

make a break for it

RUN!

I the ghost

I the figment

I the pounding heart

I the fugitive

out

free, yet not

fear, yet none

fresh air…

My day did not follow suit.

habit was broken,

what do i do, now?

a fugitive

I've never heard of a fugitive

surviving

they hide,

become invisible

then, one night, in a drunken state,

they are overcome by nostalgia

and make a break back

for the city gates

and then machine gun fire

breaks their bodies…

this, I haven't heard,

I've read

then filled out form x-127.78,

with cover sheet:

"Terrorist Prevented From

Entering City Gates"

or, for those that remain:

"Streets Protected From

Vermin by Police Heroism"

lies

I know what they'll write about me…

"Heretic Fugitive

Brought to Justice"

Safety?

would that ever be possible, again?

the door locked, but

this is their room

their micro-wave

their television

their frozen dinners

their balcony

the balcony?

perhaps I should turn the lights off,

but the dark allows for secrecy,

their secrecy

I will not hide…

but i am afraid.

awake,

time for work…

my days follow

typing paper, forms…

but unintelligible

and where are the others?

coffee…

and a

why won't my lighter light?

finally…

inhale

confusion, where are they?

sounds… vibrations…

screaming?

no, not…

but the deafening sound of masses.

they're burning!

I am standing right next to him

shiny uniform,

badge, gun…

always guns…

is he blind?

why won't you help?

he's angry?

they're becoming him

thousands…

they burn, but they are not

consumed…

a mass

almost faceless

all with his face…

and mirrored aviators

i feel their eyes,

piercing…

chasing like

a growing wave

a tidal wave

a tsunami

effortless

all with guns and badges

and they're all after me

my legs!

why can't I move?

they're gaining on me

surrounding

choking

suffocating

becoming them…

i can't fight it

same mentality

order

restraint

control

I DON'T WANT THIS

STOP

blink—

confusion?

I the ghost

I the figment

I the pounding heart

I the fugitive

out

freedom and

fear and

fresh air…

Before this time,

a forest shaded the land and

streets were restricted to solid ground.

It was a time of warfare,

prolonged warfare.

This was before the Hero, the

boy, the lion, the camel, the golden-scaled

dragon slayer, before he stood up.

The Department of Yesterday says that

there never was a god, but this is not so.

And the Truth Department has made it

clear that the word is profane,

"One should never take it upon one's self

to rescue the World."

But it was a time of war…

And so the Hero drove into the heart of

the Forest and fought and killed God.

Returning, the Hero was stoned to death,

but only after the masses

took it upon themselves to march clear

the minefields,

to prove the point.

This was how we were rescued.

This is how we rescued order,

by force and sacrifice.

But the proof and bones and

sacrificially fertile fields

are now covered in lines and boxes

and planes of concrete,

brought into Order.

People are not allowed within

a kilometer of the City walls,

without authorization, or a gun.

But there is traffic that passes

through the gates, in and out,

between the urban centers.

Great automated machines pass through,

but most people live and die in the City,

never seeing the walls.

No civilian has seen Sirkamrika

and returned,

so the Truth Department reports.

I must escape. But to leave these walls,

I must die.

If I am just a number

and failure in the system

is due to death only,

I am dead now.

I will pass, unnoticed and invisible…

written off as an insignificant

speck on a gear

in an otherwise flawless clock.

Timing is everything.

Part 2

In the days after, I

was neither solely

memories nor a prophecy. Though

the City spanned

history, itself;

I the poltergeist rose up and

defiled my own grave.

I refused their pills.

I was alone then,

in a wilderness of volatile

expanse and the truly

unknown.

I was like darkness, then

before human machines

but the distrusting public

had sought apologies from

those they had slaughtered.

The sun rose on my day…

I stood by the asphalt strip

and gazed at the silhouette of the polis

a faint shadow

outshined by the light

of a new day.

This was the time of

It was raining

outside the city walls.

There was no precipitation inside,

"We have overcome our weakness

and taken control of the climate,

and it is beautiful and ordered

and guaranteed," said the

Truth Department.

Overcome…

no shelter,

but the void is dauntingly

Beautiful.

I am but a…

i am nothing.

I am

in the midst of openness

and I feel small.

where shall i go?

***

Darkness has set in and so I sleep,

curled

clutching

clinging desperately to the ground,

for the dizzying fear that—

Close eyes. Believe in morning.

She.

not she?

not he…different

focus.

screen, type

From…

Form v-IZ7.7S

smoke

chair and tray and tv

pills

intensity pierces through my closed lids

Emotion

almost unbearable

this sight

the color and warmth…

My room was only on the eighteenth floor,

they reserved the upper floors,

those that could look out,

for the upper management.

I saw the gray-scale shift;

when the shadow slide reached

the twenty-third floor of C-105-7.05,

the building adjacent to mine,

it was time to depart for work.

I dreamt, that

I was once in the Archives

of the Truth Department.

This was a forbidden place,

where words too dangerous to be

completely forgotten

are buried…basement floor six,

below the subway

only the waste treatment and reclamation

pipes and tunnels of the City's bowels

were below this floor

I remember the surprise.

but

Each morning I felt as though I had been

living a reoccurring dream.

I felt as though someone

else had borrowed my skin for the night,

and left me

to wake in my clothes…

They gave me other prescriptions:

Mood Stabilizer

Instructions, Explicit:

Take ONE (1) pill every morning,

with Growth Stabilizer…

But I still swear that dream is real

Yellow-pink, blue-shift…

god,

look at the sunrise

***

where does the sun rise?

Where am I?

and where from here?

direction?

letters: north-south; numbers: east-west

but there are no signs

It's too dangerous to stay by the strip.

what will I eat? how will I wipe myself?

how will I bathe?

how… what…

what dangers are out…

there?

How can I find my way if

I don't know where I am?

fuck.

My days will never again

follow suit;

habit is broken

and withdrawal

my only drug.

I've never seen the sun rise

from so low, but

when the sun was overhead,

this meant time for

the lunch break;

what does this mean for me?

Supposedly, they used

stars for direction;

but in the daylight,

what good does that do me?

And besides, they were under the false

assumption

that the stars were stationary…

all is in flux

chaotic occurrence

coincidentally meaningful

Order has always been a shroud

a blinder placed on sheep

to conceal the Truth

that their sheepdog protectors

are wolves.

but, a fixed reference point is paramount.

Does it lose value in being arbitrary?

Who knew it was so hard to walk away?

choice. my choice.

Here is my direction:

I will keep Amrika to my back

and the road to my left.

My old future is behind me,

the Unknown lies ahead.

It was fifteen meters from my old door

to the balcony

eighteen paces

fifty thousand steps before

I lay my boots to rest,

holding direction until the morning.

distance passed underfoot

vacant long trudge

heel

toe blistered burning thighs

sweat and stomach grumbling

god i'm thirsty

the sun blazes on flat infinite

grassland.

there are standing puddles;

what about the germs?

one thousand steps before

I lay my boots to rest,

holding direction until morning.

underfoot distance and

vacant long trudge

heel

toe

blistered feet and sun-dried skin

burning cramped legs

The sun's long set to my right;

I think I'll sleep under this bush.

I dreamt, once, I stood conned

defending honesty, truth

entirely from

my old stories

retold subjectively

black marker free

but fire put an end to that

and my palms cry burnt reality.

damn their violence

their remedies

this brain-cloud

I had a life.

I'm alone

exposed

cradle me

cover me

smother me

first light cool

a bruised shivering

head noise sleep

and warm solar caress…

I think I'll sleep in today.

hours passed before my

blind awakening to

short shadows and sun-bleached

bareness;

the contempt of high noon.

It has been a day since I've eaten

but I can't avoid it

any longer—

I need to shit.

I think, now,

I'd rather a clean hand than a clean ass

and grass and dirt

only cling

to the smudged stink.

where's a puddle?

So, I‘ll use my left hand now…

Should I go back?

Could I go back?

I could claim to be a

refugee.

This has worked,

and I filed the forms

in triplicate

"Amrika Demonstrates Devotion

To Humanitarian Ideals—

Opposition points to ‘Security Risk'

as primary challenge."

political spectacles and

the gluttony of

photo-op philanthropy.

can I ever return?

I must trudge on…

fuck.

Where am I going?

fifty thousand steps, yesterday

stutter two three four five

a moth light point on the horizon

distant horizon

birds and

a bone-bare carcass,

flies and ants

will I see more in seventy?

And what is that glaring reflection?

some village's solar collector, perhaps

a beacon?

a land-locked daytime lighthouse…

another blind gathering of fools?

But

my hasty exit

and my cultured genes

have me ill-prepared.

I thirst.

a dizzying circumspection…

how can I find a stream?

where does the land slope?

The blank topography feels like

a Land Development Project

and this openness

tosses me around sea-sick,

like the City walls that

held me

anxious and trapped

call me cynical, but I think

there's a reason…

focus

I did not come out here to die.

seventy thousand steps

a chance at grasshoppers, ants

water.

hope for reaching sanctuary…

The sun has long set over my shoulder

but the horizon point

still stands

luminous

blue white clarity

one thousand steps before

I lay my boots

and body down

to awaken with direction…

counting down heel and toe—

how long can a human

survive without water?

vacant distance and long

heel

toes blistered

shin splints

cramped burn

trudge

five hundred more steps

numbed distance

and vacant throbbing trudge

heel toe

toe toe toe toe toe

floating distance

thrown count

only the point

the destination

and a detached burn

a root

and I

stumble

I think I'll sleep under this bush.

Goodnight, me…

good night reflection

my old clean shaven face

turning worn soles

in dreaming

back home

i feel disheveled

sleep passed quickly.

there'll be time for it later…

in this predawn mist and overcast

I should seek shelter.

the point still glows

but I fear that

the passing of morning

may leave me abandoned

grey bellowing

darkening

death circling over my head

thousands of steps to travel…

help me, i despair.

underfoot distance and

determined trudge

survive.

heel

toe

The rain began

refreshing

finally,

relief to my sand scratched eyes

it intensified and

I could cup my hands…

Then the torrential screen was lowered

and the village disappeared.

heel toe

trudge

the weather turned against me

as the shower

turned to stone me with hail

storm

wind lashed my face

Abandon course

find shelter

Survive.

where's a bush for

huddling?

a rock

to crawl under?

this closing act was doomed from the start

The storm might pass

but

I am starving

I am lost

I can go no

further

draw the curtain.

Part 3

In these days, community

gave me hope

spoke of memory with love

promised

asserted my salvation.

The graves will open

and children will dance, again.

The City is but one construction.

my dead eyes opened

to sterile white

and a soothing green

four walls

a bed

and beeping pulsing machines…

am I naked?

Through hollow echoing

and muffled eardrum thump

"… excuse me, ma'am?

Ma'am? Doctor, I think

he's coming to."

"Well, let's check in on him."

Footsteps

through the hallway,

stopping,

the door opens

"Hello, friend."

fluorescent squinted vision

sensitivity

focus

speak

"It's okay. You've been

in a coma for the last three days."

but I haven't slept in years…

"Your strength will return. Here,

let's get you some solid food, shall we?"

Food? Where does it come from?

"We have an excellent

kitchen staff."

Where am I?

"Safe."

I saw a bright reflection; what is it?

"You must mean the mirrors

in the collection field."

Is that where I am?

"You were found

by one of our herders.

You're lucky—

we weren't sure you could be saved."

Saved?

"Where are you from?"

Amrika.

"How did you make it out?"

i don't know…

"How did you get out here?"

i don't know—

"Who else was with you?"

no one.

I relayed to her my exodus

and wandering.

I told her I was a failed number

an unsolvable variable—

my existence left me

one

single

option

Escape.

"Your brain scans show

extreme trauma."

brain scans and trauma?

What do you mean?

flashes

of terrible violence

in sterile white rooms

and no windows

—overcome laziness—

splintered thoughts

wasn't it all a dream?

"We've seen other cases of

this.

Psychological torture."

Torture?

flashes of disjointed

neural firiing

lightttning storm

spotted vision

collapse and

convulse

and finally, confusion…

"Can you remember

your name?"

Struggle

and gargled tension,

the spasms passed.

"Relax."

deer-caught peace

of brilliant light—

My brain hurts.

"Yes, I know. We will help you."

help—

finally, relief.

mental flashes

of hazed over

fog

soft focused pictures

What has happened to me?

"That is what we intend

to find out;

if you're willing to work

with us."

plural—‘we'

who else does she mean?

"Right now…"

‘right now,' meaning ‘wait'

"we'll start by holding you…"

against my will?

no…

will takes too much energy

"for observation. We're going to

run some tests. These

will help us evaluate

your situation."

Apparently, my situation was dire

not by what she said

but between her words

behind the smile

a glimmer of hope lost

in her eyes

Is it still storming outside?

"Yes, though it should clear by week's end."

She smiled and wished me a good night

as dinner was brought in

—no television glare or lazy slouch

and the smell was free of

the radium stench.

my mouth began salivating

Wait

she stopped

half-stride out of the door

like my tip-of-the-tongue

struggle to find

damn this brain clouded aphasia

Again, she smiled.

"I'll be back in the morning."

* * *

Pitch black panic—

Where am I?

eyes glazed

slow hollow blue lit recognition…

a hospital room.

push button for potion

iv drip

drip

relief…

release

sunlight caress

sleep fallen

fresh eyes

the sun filtering through

the white curtains

softened

the corners

of the room

radiated in

safety and

smothering

silence,

my cocoon.

"Good morning."

a questionable assessment

by the doctor

Is it still raining?

"Yes."

do they know how

tired I am

of clockwork

sunrises?

perhaps?

am i truly safe here?

"You used nearly 30mL.

Did you have trouble sleeping last night?"

I've never really enjoyed hospital stays.

"Well, with what we've taken so far,

a few more tests today

and maybe

we can find other accommodations.

I'll speak with my father."

She smiled and the thought

suddenly struck me…

She's old enough to

as old as

brain fuzz

goddamn

did I have a family?

face remembered

now dissipating haze

gibberish inquiries

"Are you all right?"

clarified vision

and facial recognition

Oh. Yes. Sorry…

she smiled

"I'll ask someone from physical therapy

to help you outside for breakfast. Fresh air

will do you some good."

Thank you.

She smiled and turned towards the door

Wait. Before you go…

I asked her name

and as she spoke

a vibrating

chill ran through my being

beginning at her lips

pulsing

air pressure

repercussion to my

ears

caressed

hair on end

as her lips breathed

across my neck

below my ear lobe

flesh

and static charge—

god, that sounded like a prayer…

The outdoors smelled heavy

of rain's perfume

and sanctuary.

I enjoyed my breakfast

as my body

felt

just that much

lighter

yet

there was the throbbing in my chest

a stomach shaking

like bicycle remembering…

the presence of

some

thing namelessly familiar

something, perhaps, that…

The Hospital sat on the opposite

end of the main street

from their place of governance—

I can't recall having ever seen in Amrika

the…

central office?

Through this street, shop windows

hung open

flooding the air with smells

of livestock, baked goods, linens, and

carved furniture, produced and

sold by smiling faces

sounds of conversation and money exchanges

a chest empty ache.

"I'm glad you decided to stay with me."

an interesting way to put it.

Thank you, for your hospitality.

I don't know where else

I could have gone.

"I can't tell you how excited I am

to introduce you to my father."

Can you tell me what happened to me?

"Well, from your personal accounts

and our observations,

it appears that you were tortured."

looking down at my hands…

and what of dreams?

I mean the acts themselves.

"I can only venture guesses,

but the brain pulses with various

frequencies

play the right note and you

have dissonance…"

my own personal brain cloud distortion

"But given the right environment,

we've found the mind to be quite

resilient…"

are memories physical imprints?

what good are they for survival?

hmmm…how much physical…damage?

"Very little. In fact, with the right diet

most of it should heal quickly."

No more microwaves…

"That's one way to put it."

Are there microwaves here?

"No, eating is vital. Why should you feel

the need to rush its preparation?"

Convenience, I guess.

How do you know about them?

"We make it a point to know about

places beyond our border."

I'm sure there was a time when the city

was less suffocating.

"Perhaps, but

it has always been an

oppressive ruler, a herding ground of

consumers—"

With our hierarchy and

bottom-feeders,

hired guns and butchers,

so to speak;

though I walked through your market, today,

and saw your civil guards.

Are you so righteous

that your borders are open to

conquest?

"That's not exactly how international affairs

are handled;

the old geopolitics has lost out…but no,

our borders are protected from invasion."

What was it you said your father did, again?

she smiled,

"Well, he's an architect,

and serves as a senator ."

Family business?

Beautiful and without modesty,

"Yes, that is my ambition;

but save this conversation for dinner;

I was thinking about laying spread

around you…"

I lost what she said after that:

but something about her lips when

she smiled

their proportions

and the curve they made,

full and subtly puckered,

I was compelled to be quiet

and walk beside her.

We continued on in electric buzz silence,

finally reaching where her father stood.

He introduced himself as "Paolo,"

and we exchanged formalities

in familiar

body posturing

and intonations—

he bear hugged me.

In spite of the discomfort with this

show of affection,

I felt welcome.

Father and daughter

embraced.

Then we made our way along a path

leading up to the house

bordered by a row of pear trees

in bloom

and apple trees

bisecting two concentric

hedged and

stone walled perimeters

ideally proportioned

around stretches

of raked sand patterns

and sporadic scattering

of rocks and cacti

As if drawn in by the

balance

and harmony

we passed through a free standing

arch

into a short

open space

then

to the front door

where I was greeted

by a sizable dark brown dog,

who barked twice as threat,

not menacingly, but with the

dignified force of a guardian

—this was his to protect.

"Aesop, sit. This is our guest. Behave."

Grudgingly he huffed and sat,

then began wagging his tail

as Paolo crossed the threshold

scratching him on the top of the head.

Pets were banned from Amrika.

Various departments agreed that

they were an unnecessary burden,

a resource drain that gave no return,

worse than worthless

"Who can put a price on companionship?

Who can calculate the profits?"

Their point exactly.

Stepping in, Aesop moved

towards me

shoved his nose first between my legs,

huffed again

then nudged my hand

until it rested on his head

so I scratched him and

was drawn in further

embraced by the

domed volume

of a light-filled and warm

home.

And yet, a twinge of nostalgia arose,

a part of me missed my old box

digits and potions

voodoo