after Sentimental Story, d. Z. Oraczewska, 1973
I tore pages out of books to create houses. I collected famous smiles. I drove a fast car. I learned to live in the desert. I forgot what a city was. But I remember advertising. I let the sound of my voice leave me. I pulled language from a skull. I became a photographer. I became a ghost on a bus in a junkyard. I captured every moment. I walked up stairs like any man. I got into a bed shaped like a desert. I closed first one eye, then, later, the other. My world went black. I ended on a cliffhanger.