Exhibition Text

Compressed fruit cubes in a ziploc.
Palms,
knees,
feet,
shoulders,
feet,
knees,
palms.
Indigo veins dancing across the front shield.
Giant sport shoes covered with crushed chalk and laced up too tight. They look like two parallel
altostratus full of rain.
50 chin-ups,
72 arrows,
125 sugar cubes, it is almost ripe.
A confused ghost with a light shadow floats across the low ceili ng, and that’s ok.
I wrap him in a warm white towel that smells like bleach, and hide it in the hollow porcelain chest.
A 7000 oz Styrofoam cup held upside down by a pale long hand.
Long lobes.
Long nose.
Long tears on long toes.
Three sips and I see your endless neck,
But I place your pretty face in the bottom left corner of my wingshaped amber lens.
And it seems so small now, today more than yesterday,
and even more than the day before yesterday.
A red clay soap-block in a tennis sock.
A glass eye on the porous floor of a small empty room where dusk is undulating.
Body weight. Broken smiles held with glue,
A strange color:
blue pruno blue.