A Calculation Based on Figures in a Scene (audio only)
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Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror
Some days, everything is a machine, by which I mean remove any outer covering, and you will most likely find component parts: cogs and wheels that whirr just like an artificial heart, a girl in a red cap redacting the sky, fish that look like blimps and fish-like blimps, an indifferent lighthouse that sweeps the horizon. I wasn’t a child for long and after I wasn’t, I was something else. I was this. And that. A blast furnace, a steel maze inside, the low-level engine room of an ocean liner.
2017
Speaking of the future, Hamlet
is saying, someday this day will be over.
A moon will presumably still be above:
a bone quiet, an inflatable in the scene
—the cool blue swimming pool
it finds itself in. And I will want to be.
My mother, the Queen, will want only
2020
The Eye Like a Strange Balloon Mounts Toward Infinity
We were going toward nothing all along. Honing the acoustics, heralding the instant shifts, horizontal to vertical, particle to plexus, morning to late, lunch to later yet, instant to over. Done to overdone. And all against a pet-shop cacophony, the roof withstanding its heavy snow load. So, winter. And still, ambition to otherwise and a forest of wishes. Meager the music floating over. The car in the driveway. In the P-lot, or curbside. A building overlooking an estuary, inspired by a lighthouse. Always asking.
2004