The Awkward Conversation
(texts on the floor)
This hard soil of rebirth.
Will we talk about it?
The muscle, the sky and the earth.
Of my lofty perch, blood red with disquiet,
And the sinewy games, buried in darkness.
For a yellow strand embellished, holds yet.
It is I who excavates crafted consciousness
To the passage of plump, digging brown blue.
Away from the death of this variegated mess.
And the silver chilled spoon soured through,
Upon the cypress floors splintering yawn.
Guile at a watery pocket vase that you grew,
Rains a momento in falling carcasses at dusk
And leaves me to wallpaper, particles of husk.
EXHIBITED: West of Central, Bathurst Regional Art Gallery 2023