• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 12


As an oneironaut,
I travel instinctively,
to the island where they
filmed the short,

Connaissance Due
Monde. I tie up my
boot laces and climb
their new installation,

I reach for the stalk, and it
responds, ‘ooohhh,’ so I fall
off. Sometime after we start
talking, and this stack tell me

this isn’t permanent,
it’s for a contest gone
awry. They rely on the surface
of their skin, the craters left

after way too much
TV exposure has
caused this hiatus.
They’ve taken to not



speaking to each other
in the meantime until
the winner is

but I haven’t the
propensity to
tell them the
winners were

called, some thirty
years ago.