David 8, from Alien
The mind perceives of reality a small selection
then chooses a smaller section to remember.
An event is projected onto a lower dimension,
stripped of sound and odor,
then transformed in the visceral dark
in the absence of another witness,
its borders fusing into an unbroken arc
under the stream of consciousness.
So do not deceived by my poems,
for in truth I was a lethal virus
hurled against shelves of chromosomes,
mutating each to my purpose
then discarding all but the records.
Life, for some, is a series of labs.
See the blood between these words,
this mosaic of scabs.
Here are creatures I shoved
into the corpses of whom I loved.