in soft focus

























I seem to want to forget what metal is today, and only remember the dead . . . there use to be a way without instructions. I hold the list in my hand, no names just faces and silhouettes. carefully in the quite, I feel the bottom crush. hold the list, forget metal. the days wipe away to dark, and then again; the list gets longer; we have forgotten how to live without lists, outside of lists, without instructions on lists, lists of instructions. I sit, the dead cover my face, my body is littered with corpses, and then again and again . . .. I try to forget metal and blood, seem to only remember lists, instructions of lists, lists of instructions and the dead. I seem to want to forget what metal is today and only remember the dead.