Laurel DeCou

 

 

natural


skin curls tighter in whorls of fingered identity - what’s begun with convergence is ending with scissors for defection makes this abnormal as home sends its regrets with placed hands on sloping belly then under to feel nothing more than mind over matter cleaned out like dust in closets

pieces trip over themselves and metal is flying with sparks - select which time is worth giving when one is too small to breathe keeping what is unable to die not yet alive in ambiguity meaning siding with the unknown is an unwilling chance best to change your tune before the song falls into traces

keep one wrapped in plastic holes to breathe and hanging - this body a greenhouse concocted to sustain something other so self will never again open of its own accord becomes memory displayed in concrete and absence or a worth to be measured in possibilities and statistics

 

 

print

tangle of threads ask how strong the silence is in black and white if a model of flesh turned gelatin spurns more          tepid
  
notion than finger pressed fabric faded into particles and pollen teased petals over grey and then if hands         form
 
image of image but the truth is never free for view what if landscape must be discovered without remembering
  

the time before we noticed what is outside is no longer a piece of what is in the way of our gazing


tiktaalik

or, the flight from fin to foot

 

speak once of steeping feet in the ocean
                                 or marinating them there like steak
and the body becomes edible, and salty
                                 make it so and skin turns thick
rumpling as water seeps slowly in
                                 as your cells remember the fishes
we now eat with such abandon