He had this thing about rice.
Box upon box.
Carton upon carton.
Stacking them
throughout his apartment.
At night
visions of rice paper
wrapped his dreams
turning them inside out
exposing their plaid lining.
He became preoccupied.
He would walk into a room and forget.
The keys to his car
had to be rescued.
Word got out.
His friends suggested counseling.
He consulted several books
and websites.
He even plugged himself
into a search engine
to see how many hits he would get.
Nothing helped.
He became distant.
Got lost in conversations.
Eventually moved away.
Years later we found out
there was a worm.
It would enter his crawl space
encrypt his password
tease his logic
slip away.
And he'd be gone
replaying the code
unreachable.
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| Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison |