Hypermnesia Someone else's monotonous music abstract past slathered in living objects coated with aromatic decomposition adrenaline and histamine release typical of the sort that accompanies all forms of self-inflicted surgery a disembodied finger points indicating this place there that's it expand past the unity to demolish context nothing dramatic nothing grotesque nothing active nothing represented save representation itself static the old man sleeps the young woman watches someone else's depictions of room and earth windows and sky bare black tree arms crooked in obscene gestures of defiance at the condescending clouds that stroke them so softly and slightly and lovingly they cap time in the forehead the caste mark of the hell-less to a lesser extent extant an expanse of oiled glass daubed with soundless sounds sounds that can be seen but not heard backlit with too much of that light that illustrates every polished blemish every crying sore every slipped grin cracked lip and oyster eye that ever abraded from a distance and left its menstrual imprint in the fabric of the clothing that draped this monotonous music ground down and out in the ashtray of punishment without guilt flung at the sky by the hands of the arms of the trees that posture pseudo-apocalyptically in succession ineffectiveness and solitude ineffectiveness in solitude arthritic grasping grants purchase on matter and language a smoky darkness made visible by projected light that reveals that which should be concealed and forgotten by those who do nothing but reveal and remember congeal and dismember this atomized spray of indistinguishable lives lived no more cold olive skin on cold percale sheets on a slab of flame-retardant mattress couched in a cold alloy frame trickle of warm want dissolving the clot of distaste that rises like mist from two open mouths gasping at each other the flavorless meal that is someone else's arrangement savoring the raw flesh of order of execution and demand cradled in the arms of a sky that will never fall clouded with the lowering horizon of noisy images imagined noises that speak and failing to speak discharge a clear odorless liquid that condenses above them to seep downward and coat the black arms of the trees reaching out to strike hit and push away ever away it is already forgotten she says while he sleeps it is something like that which was spoken of between two people that is already forgotten she touches him there and there and there as if to stop search previous play pause mute delete she needs to hear someone else's monotonous music abstract past trees sky arms pool bed mist mouths meal they eat the future they drink the present and in the morning they will shit the past and piss bloody streams of monotonous music to adorn the cold white porcelain of their unintentional meaning but right now he sleeps while she watches the dance of crippled intentions limp and flutter behind the drapery of his face driven on by monotonous music that she has already forgotten that she has heard before. - Jason Price Everett