11 September - 24 September
Native Perpignan
My dearest friends, you killed us with your love
Birthed us into a window to see through
You see,
Stillness is an impossibility
But we’ll do our best to maintain the pose
For the makers
They labour on the outskirts, they’re makers
Of Interfaces, makers of gluten, and
Droplets, makers of rotten fruit light, and
Makers of sweet things written in sun ink
Who hold
Of Interfaces, makers of gluten, and
Droplets, makers of rotten fruit light, and
Makers of sweet things written in sun ink
Who hold
The technology of ancient remnants
Of dinner, ash, crumbs, and early mornings
Essentially an art of containment
However unarmed
Essentially an art of containment
However unarmed
Glassmakers are wizards who translate heat
Perform accidents of love and play tricks
Who produce darkness but never a void
A void, single mass, dense immensity
In it, there are innumerable globes
That challenge flatness
Perform accidents of love and play tricks
Who produce darkness but never a void
A void, single mass, dense immensity
In it, there are innumerable globes
That challenge flatness
No one here’s cast in the other’s likeness
We’re cast by way of the forms we wear for others
You see,
We’re not alone, but in symbiosis
Alone together
again
In serial appraisal
We’re cast by way of the forms we wear for others
You see,
We’re not alone, but in symbiosis
Alone together
again
In serial appraisal
Bitsy Knox