A FULL SIZED MEMORY FOAM PILLOW IS FORCED INTO A TWO LITER DRINKING BOOT.
I lie in bed
leg to your leg
with my hand on your belly
and I feel him move
and it’s the last time we 3 will ever occupy so little space
everyday is from the one that follows...
I remember the first one, the night...
drinks... not drinks; pitchers
playing darts yes
I wish I could remember
I wish I could remember like I could then
long exchanges of the darts
slow motion to prolong the contact of skin
nervous; feeling the tension... my insides twisting
and invitations for another drink, another game...
and then fighting to stay awake
my head on your pillow
and sleep... the positions we would assume forever for the very first time...
leg to your leg, my arm around your waist
like this time here with my hand on your belly
and I want to believe that’s how it happened...
but I think it’s just forced fantasy...
German folklore fused with conjured imagery
I see the scenes from a third person perspective,
looking over my shoulder to see around my head, to see your face...
struggling to recall everything from within my own eyes
I’m forced to admit I don’t remember things as well as I once did...
so I feel my way through... shaping...
conforming to whatever is imposed by the circumstance at hand...
my hand... my hand here on your belly
feeling him move for the first time... and I wonder;
will soon too I lose this...
will soon my reaction to this loss be an antiquing finish that pervades my brain
a yellowing that casts itself over everything
[MEMORY FOAM PILLOW, GLASS BOOT - sculpture]