Books
︎...A picnic afternoon was meant for a more public lawn. In the morning, soil turns itself, incrementally regaining the form it had lost. The is the evidence of sculpture: Michelangelo’s Unfinished Slaves, encased in stone, caught among different shades of shame. Holding, as if in protest, their own substance, that which makes them mobile, the soil that spills around his hesitant shoe, digging troughs at the foot of cypress, back erect in waiting, my feet slipping into mud...︎
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