7 pieces

Alone, 1986

Blouet, 0.61×0.49 m. 

Dog-Cart, 0.27×0.35 m. 

Examination at the Faculty of Medicine, 1901

Medical Inspection, 0.83×0.61 m. 

Usual Cat

Wedding Protest +9/11

Alone, 1896

A lot of life went wherever it led, and now, the wire fence behind which pecked some free-range chickens, our roots confused with feed. Center recently conducted flaggings, as it has with breast-scale and syndicated distress, you say? I wonder why that option, called the Just in Case Pepper Center moved from “Do you ever store a knife to be whipped in their affidavit,” to “Is it hard to have  a new baby,” I said. “He doesn’t really take the witness-cheek.” When it somehow comes nervous, but at the time, excited to make what none alive can wear as bling. Canon warned that they’d be creative, there’s that, but they’re paying attention to the wrong clerk. So no worries, unless there’s something we haven’t factored in, like maybe anxiety ought to keep us going: it owes us that much. “She was the demolition, the people, blowing on it to see if it will scatter,” she said. Sonnez les matines. Who trebled in and out my door.

Medical Inspection, 0.83×0.61 m.

This is on us: we held hands, gave it moisture. “Sure,” you exhale, but “life’s not something you get to do every day.” Or wait, is it everyday? Syntax nazis want their manifestoes spic n’ not so little as to swing Jose or Bonaparte. Happening upon brown, they unclasp their founder pens and color it service, together, in English unison—at the y-fora of the bimonthly. And if so, only when the others are busy looking... aaight? Baffore us the pawid table: a lidded party light, and a choice between caregiver or caretaker. We took his lying / down, once, and great great children streamed from cell-groups to bust our hinges, so unafraid were they of the abaci. A guanxi agent will come by shortly to take this call—don’t worry your hansom, infraracial head—as well as that decisive moment to grease an axiom of decency upon which was established the suns: stand upright and burn a few minutes more, never to tell anybody it’s going to be okay it’s going to be okay. Not just any body.

Blouet, 0.61×0.49 m.

Thanking you would scatter you. Packed with ice from the nearest sari-sari, a receiving cloth makes passing acquaintance with your notions. Shadow lunch, timid lunch, and there’s no letting go. Though once, there sprang some salmon, and silver running a circle on top like a halo, but now a membrane’s starched against all that. That’s not rain, that’s decision, pieces of decision, some denser than others. Was to report on the dryness of youth, however... I ran out. Our tenderness thus resigned to a joining. My shoulder a shadow of yours, my collar a chip off your bone. So we took liberties with chalk and pardon / shut the lids. The rest can’t be ash but a finely crunched, deliberate sprinkling of replica. And only if your dream isn’t you shall it count.

Examination at the Faculty of Medicine, 1901

Windows. I was to gloss on windows without rippling the spirit. All the noses twinkling for kisses, but each had been reserved for the tiny thumbs of spectacles. Recall how hold on tight signaled the wildest of freedoms. I know this, I have this, you know I have this. You know what’s exciting? These things change and from this point on you should refer to them as people. You know anybody where just about nothing lurks? Before all this—what comes in the morning? Aftertastes of daring.