Startled by the décor of the logic gates a portrait stands tall with the genial spirit. Black plastic patent pending the diameter of your wrist – about three inches small. Its vinyl bindings pinch the thighs – running down the double wide. An optical cable. Rods of refracted light marbled between cork and wainscot. Logic as such lines up watching subroutines work their way to the top.
Already written, the book talks back but with different hair.
It has knobs on. It takes its miniature fabrics off. Hollow when sawed through – a Ken doll with plastic flesh. These contradictions only prove K exists. The illusion of an argument alive in the eye. Feeling an arc that guides each step. The constraint of a three-legged race. Or a tumbling apart that produced silence.
We’ve become there – as adjacents. Ready to wear. Enacted in body words populate the gestures that own us.
Reading and Repetition
10 hours ago