Aria

this trifle of faces is the foundation   for my dreams streaked by muddy nudes and jewel tonesalternating with prints in pink and blue   staining downwards the monochrome pieces of clothdown where they soak up anything they can getif it existed this retrospective arrangement   if it weren’t for the sediment of fresh faces still juicy with pigment and glue still thick with house beats and sweat   full of the fantasy you can disavow timethe individual layers hint at the importance of being extraof sebum and but fall short with their unmeasured polka-dots grime I commemorate this transformationof who I am to be with who I am no longer as if anything could be wiped entirely cleanonly together can you trace the way I bleed