2018

Vinyl Vacuum bag, Fake flowers, prayer rugs, piping and broken wood

9ft X 6ft

If all the patterns on our threads are to adorn ourselves with paradise, then am I living in a dream that was never ordained for me? Will the riverbeds be flattened slabs of bleached cement and stained by algae? Grey water and 3rd day expired milk, slowly and silently leaking to a halt?

My throat is dam made of hypotheticals and obscured interactions.

I am dammed.

If I’m living illusions in faultless unions of everything I want, will my paradise be an illusion as well? Will my fountains pour tap-water that tastes like pennies, and the birds boast colors of  brown and grey, fleeing my presence? The wine that dyes my lips and teeth be bitter and dry, leaving me thirstier; more unaware?

I am dammed.

I have so much love for you, though I fear who associates with you.

I fear they will have no use for what I withhold.

I am dammed.