Breathing stacks on itself and up half a body feels full: both here and there and hot on pavement. Sidewalk conjured by a tracing light that hovers between day and not. Nelson told me that that the door out is clear but somehow the distance feels so solid that no amount of permeability will let me reach. Into thin air away and lean against window tickled by rain. Hot water down my throat and pitter patter piano keys on playing piano through the thick and thin. Sheets in hotels never feel quite as soft as their pictures.
And I find myself there again—tap my heels: there’s no place like there’s no place like there’s no place.
From which we'll never roam. Installation with moving blanket coated in concrete and glitter, beeswax, suspension cords, found deer figurine, balloons, memory of a kite, and dandelions.
