by Robert Seminara
(Los Angeles (the rehab letters))
Something's not right, yes something is very wrong. I cant feel my hands or my feet. My legs are like heavy memories of things i should know but dont. Their movement is a mechanical enterprise thumping me forward lumbering me along. And how long has it been since ive taken a breath? Yet all these numbers and symbols, these flashing lights and little beeps, they seam a natural thing. A part of me. But who is this me im so perplexed by? Is it not the new me, the one from the brochure? The me of technology?