from Cyborg Love Affair

Already I’m losing this memory. She vanishes, like neon lights that fade into the haze of an early morning Lyft. OK. Then you reach your final destination, and there is nothing left to mourn. Are you sleepy? Close your eyes. Let the feeling activate itself just so. Lying with your back on the seat of the couch, your head steadies on the coffee table. Now perch both feet up and over the recline. You dreamt of watching television from this position which meant that the glass-framed television display our parents culturally owned would have to be installed into the ceiling.



Yet:



“I was willing to design a house to achieve this dream.”



Watching you recline in reverse, I substitute the situation for an alternate memory. The memory is inconsequential. I don’t want a house. I’d prefer denaturing proteins that cost us pennies to manufacture.