pencil on paper, 2020
Man entered flowers, tattoos, piercings. Sat on the stairs staring out smelling of wet grass and rain, leaf on his head, yellow, couldn’t say anything. Brown spots, small birch.
In the dirt.
I don’t know. How fragile are we? Sting to be stung by a sudden wasp in the hair. When you torched your hair didn’t know what to be stung, sting, hit, anger in fists, in small beings staring outside scared.