Tracey Denim

bar italia

Today he’s working on a floor in a large house and something distant approaches. Touching his own face on the glass, eroded, and how his body must sing out of it.

The glue under the nails is hard and sore, the head awry and drifting. A harlequin tablecloth, red and white or white and green? A spinning black coin dropped beneath the waterway underpass as the intimacy gradients flushed with colour because of our closeness. Those longings to be whole, the dispute to make a gesture.

Surviving on a crown of thorns, a challenge heard as an echo. Sustaining those questions of movement and propagations to peer down the lens of a particular type of discussion.

The problem with narrative, the problem with metaphor, the problem with text.

Common mistakes and common conceit. Eyes locked on the physical charm…the transparency of agency?