by Ida Griesemer
2011
chair, string, xmas lights
installation
8/16/2011
First thing in the morning, I shave
by Matt Zingg
Let me start with this: a blind vulture
on the deadest of trees, a line of ants,
a baby rabbit like a wad of tissue
paper, a thin layer of flesh and the sky
underneath it all. Talking is a clump
of red dirt in a severed hand. Wait.
Let me steal this picture: my days
are orchid petals floating down
a river and at night, only the sound
of conspiring. This does not
belong to me. No matter. Cut the trees
close to the earth. Dam the river.
Close the earth, dam the rivers,
belong to me. No matter, cut the trees
of conspiring. This is not
a river at night, only the sound
of orchid petals floating down.
Let me steal this picture: my days
are red dirt in a severed hand. Wait.
Underneath it all, talking is a clump
of paper, a thin layer of flesh and sky,
a baby rabbit like a wad of tissue,
on the deadest of trees, a line of ants.
Let me start with this: a blind vulture.
