An exercise in imposing the spatial limitations of Clutch to text, where each square inch of the mobile gallery is represented by a single word.
Ciar O’Mahoney
Humanity is a liquid,
Pouring itself where ever it pleases
And leaking away in swarms,
When the cracked concrete forms it nurtures,
Become a static obstruction
-
Time screams in the garden
as it passes through
Screams for taller trees, greener grass, more vibrant flowers
To remind me, I am a moment
-
Take boundless steps through the curtains of leaves
Which dangle from overhead branches
Leaves that are fat and shiny
That smack you as you run
-
Examine simple things,
Attempt to crush apples with your bare hands,
Rub your shoulders agains damp earth
Allow skin to map the texture of everything
-
All I want is to ask you questions
So that you will keep talking to me
Because I don't make statements, I just make art
------------------
Jillian Santora
the path carved through red rocks
time a pinprick white hot salve
forty dry cracked steps to a desert steeple
intuitively reaching for open sky
-
salt water basin on a global scale
a repetitive home that i dig my toes into
millennia of crushed limestone maps
are ground ever finer
-
points A and B stand next to each other
it’s the shortest distance or the longest distance between anyone
depending on which direction they face
-
belly shirts
late summer afternoons
and lemonade
palettes of pink
your house or mine?
no one’s home
amy has the car
don’t worry, i’ll walk
-
city tempo
dictates the need for clicky boots on concrete
to pierce through nonstop trains of thought
and high rise anxiousness
quelled by taking strides
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