nighttime riddles riddle my flight as i ignite the fresh sentence,
death's sentence mentioned as my alias keeps mailing us repentance. acceptance becomes ignorance, and Igor rants against the Doctor, fears left in the locker leapt to the counter, count 'em, chopped up, mixed into a salad, eat them and I’m propped up though still an invalid. They try to destroy my true joy - what new strategy can i tactically deploy? down to one or the other, and its a bother when a brother can only turn to his father or mother. i however hover over possible actualities, a fossil claiming punctuality, reality's multi-layered, beleaguered with a totality of behaviours contradictory, can u predict for me an outcome? come out son, and solve it since i divulged it, and dissolve into simplicity this duplicity that’s implicitly arised, I think I realize I could survive if I looked into your eyes …

© Headcleaners, Delegates of Culture, 2000.
Words © Cyril Guérette for P(r)o(ph)etic Productions.