from “What I Learned on the Prairie”

by Feng

[ . . . ]
But I am glad of the staggered accumulation of your holograph.
An infinity of you-blurs to swim in. Like the name of a plant, yourblur.

Death is not a woman
but I am visited by a brunette with sad eyes. She has a magic purse that can hold anything. What will you take, I asked. She proceeded to take everything. First of all, the most immediate, solid sticker of you.
Well, at least I have an army underground, I thought,
the forbidden city of stills.

She proceeded to enter.
I marvelled at the inhuman freedom of her body.