scalps and sculptures
in the garage, so the eyes, so cranes, the outside
of the shed. i’d have chipped em all of course
with a forklift and experimentations
i left by the time there was nothing
anymore that could be done.
the erer, the agent noun who dwells
in perseverance, dewy handrails
for the crash test dummy slowly
decaying from grace. none
of the images are mine, if they
belong to you tell me and say goodbye.
what a risk the half partaken