This pit mine.
not a mouth.
not speak.
Because all languages \u200b\u200bare dead.
This cut works, which is giving birth. Drop
their acts perpendicular to the ground.
fall from my pit defects, miseries and terrors.
Caen, where I live,
rare flowers. Flores
as transatlantic illuminated at night,
a cinema where the screen is a sheet, a leaflet calling
assembly of flowers. Falling.
I'm giving birth all the time.
spoons, diving suits, scarves.
I chose the color of my periods.
Red is an arbitrary convention.
My pit is an accident of nature. It's my job
make a declaration of intent.
Image: Lucio Fontana, Concetto Spaziale, Attese.
