underneath the ice, i stir in my sleep. i am dancing in my dreams. i remember everything. and everything is gone. stolen by death. hidden by age. burnout by rage and willful apathy. we choose our paths. our stars and secret desires. we light our own fires and stand trembling in the cold consequences. selecticide. so many memories to ride. and im too tired to choose.
(a couple days ago, while on the phone with my last great love, margaret. we discussed "orbital" and the dark passages inside it. and she started to cry. she said "while it would break my heart, after all you have been going through, i would understand the choice, if you made it."  i have had the ringer on my phone shut off all weekend. i am afraid that someone will call and that would make me cry.).
the light pours out of me and shimmers underneath the ice. somewhere, a factory whistle wails and i shift in my sleep again. uneasy and curled up, i lay in the garden, waiting for the sun. waiting to unfurl. so many choices to unfold, underneath the ice. my eyelids flutter and the dream stutters into a caberet. 1932 berlin and i am singing. selecticide is a terrible train to ride. boxcarred to the camps. underneath the ice, i begin to dance and drift, out of this. i remember everything.
mist slowly creeps through the forest. soft, white and wet. down the walls. down the screen. down my face. somewhere, smokestacks sing of nationalistic pride. but all i want to do i hide. selecticide. trembling, underneath the ice, i reach out and press a button. there is a faint click and then silence.