I observe the image
of a lower back x-ray.
The vertebral bodies
are deformed and osteoporotic.
It is the lumbar spine
of a Russian construction worker.
The patient’s translator says
that I look like Engels,
“The philosopher, you know.”

I look at the radiograph again
and imagine the man
pouring cement
among the noises of hammers,
saws and engines.
After work
he whistles and smokes a cigarette
on his way home.

Then, like in the cinema
about a trillion synchronized moving parts
to the past life of the worker
spark action in the mind.
I do not ask questions.
The old man is proud of his pain.
I have no control of the mind.
So I continue the vision.

A series of stereotyped
images of Russia.
From airline posters, stamps,
and ruble bills.
At this moment the mind
suggests the abolition
of all forms of the word
“is” or “to be.”

The narration is fragile,
inconsistent and confused.
It is hard to listen
without prejudice.
So, I sit in front of an image
that appears to be a lower back x-ray of a man,
possible a Russian construction worker.