you are here

(photo by amanda oaks)

you are here
with love & respect to david smith

this place makes me feel that if i turned into a leaf, fell from a tree & tumbled down the road at the quietest of paces, i'd still be labeled an atomic bomb. this place makes me feel as if i've buried my face in newly-washed sheets, reveling in their nearness, only to be overcome with the shallowness of my breath, choking. this place makes me feel that no matter how much i love lying ear to chest listening to the drum of your heart, it will never be the most comfortable way to fall asleep. this place makes me feel that when i wake, having lost my compass in the night, that the wrong bedroom is the right place to be. this place makes me feel that i am the silk cocoon wrapped around the hungry caterpillar of my heart. this place makes me feel that i am the inside of a rough, red flannel shirt. this place makes me feel that the tongue of a lonely DJ just after he answers a dead call could plug the oil spill. this place makes me feel that i have a technicolor coat hanging in my closet at home. this place makes me feel that the red ink dust shed from the queen of hearts clack-clacking against the spoke of a bicycle wheel could very well be the most perfect example of heartbreak that i've ever seen. this place makes me feel as though i'm growing, pressing against the inside walls of a brown-spotted eggshell. this place makes me feel that building our future out of all the stones that we throw at each other probably isn't a good idea. this place makes me feel that if i were struggling in the deep end, my father's large hand would reach past the reasonable edge to steady me. this place makes me feel that this may be some sort of therapy about the way this place makes me feel. this place makes me feel the heat of my heart pressing 'gainst the cold cage of my body. this place makes me feel like the vibration between two paper cups connected by a string pulled taut. this place makes me feel like two hundred bumblebees tumbling round in a jelly jar. this place makes me feel like a fresh inner thigh bruise swaying to an overplayed jukebox song in a dive bar at 1am on a friday night. this place makes me feel that i will dry up like a swimming hole in the drought of early August. this place makes me feel that god may be a question. this place makes me feel like a bowled goldfish, warily eyeing the children playing ball inside the house. this place makes me feel that the six girls strolling down the sidewalk eating snow cones is the red rover line between my innocence & i. this place makes me feel that the muscle in my jaw will collapse from constant clenching. this place makes me feel that white picket fences are some sort of quaint symbolism for war. this place makes me feel like my throat is stuffed with cotton balls, & no matter how i flail my limbs, nobody's listening. this place makes me feel that the sinew holding it together wouldn't weather rebellion well. this place makes me feel that i have forgotten the idea of language. this place makes me feel the way you feel right now.

amanda = this color.
jessica = this color.

this piece was inspired by david smith's incredible gallery poems that can be found in his book, white time. i've been sitting on the idea for this piece for quite some time, last week i asked jess if she wanted to make it happen. all week we've been emailing each other, each of us writing one sentence apiece & then sending it back, alternating. i start the piece off & the second sentence is jessica's & so on & so forth. thank you david for the inspiration & for all the love & support over the years, we hope you dig this.