
untitled - mixed media on paper 120cmx166cm
Fore with this frame of mine is burned Running after a dog in the streets every now and then looking down the pavement falling over my own garbage
hurting the only thing that had not given up the ghost
tearing the little bits left
nourishing herself with her own creation
akin to a dog eating its own vomit
pissing on its own blanket
ordinary chaos for this kind of old birds
it seems
I forget and forgot
How still the air can stand
Then I had to imagine flying horses
Mountains behind each window
Happy whores
And men that wouldn’t leave
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