by Tsering Wangmo Dhompa


When lightning strikes, it takes a particular body to fall.

The rest become incidents. Recalled to the precincts of the body;
appropriation in motion. Props and sound.

A man has left medical school and gone backpacking to South
America. A man has sent a letter to his love, asking for friendship.
Not love.

Without names, any story can be appropriated.

The city undoes himself inch by inch. Divesting layers of fog that
we begin to associate with the place. In the end, it is different.

Lightning pixilated through far-sighted eyes. Hazy as stymied

Under normal circumstances, a man is seen as a good person or
not such a good person. These are negotiable.

What we would do for clarity. What we do for clarity.

We are left no choice, but memory persists.