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the crumbled building lies where it has fallen over 300 decaying humans that made clothing from plants and animal skin. they all wore garments--that other people made--from their dead mothers and secret girlfriends

everything is a secret here. a man approaches me and asked what am I writing. "how long you in town baby?" his eyes gazed at my breasts that glistened toward his teeth as he bites his lip

I use my hand to wipe the sweat from my cleavage and use my hair to wipe the sweat from my face finding intermittent ways to hide. i wiped them both at the same time.


I tell him I'm writing a letter to my boyfriend and that I leave town soon. Right now, even. I have a big performance and should hurry. he says, "what a beautiful women on a beautiful day!!!!!!!" 


i wonder if he believes that the day is truly beautiful. there was smut in the air from all the rotting souls beneath the crumbled building.

I've never had a boyfriend before. I think of my girlfriend making sculptures in another state about men like him. men that make you want to leave.


My mother died in that building, right over there pointing as if i couldn't spot it directly beside us. she got paid $2 a day to make pants that Versace bought and sold for $1300 a pair. and then she died for those pants. You can find  this price on the internet. 


a large tree bearing ripened fruit. sticky in men's beards and in baskets on the heads of women. infected pigs and horses and chickens animal paws inside of human mouths.robots on a large cotton field from a historical plantation that no one acknowledges. babies dying from fecal matter in the air that she calls home.


I think of my girlfriend in another state making sculptures about women like his mother. her pet goat outlived her. he still takes care of that goat and is a good stockman. sculptures about men that didn't let you leave even when you wanted to.


they made jeans that rest tight on ass that is good for squishing a lover.

i reach behind me and squeeze my own, thinking of her again. the man doesn't see where my hand rests. he told me to come back with him and pressed his hand near my leg. his hand near my leg. he says he is a good guy with a lot of money. he asks how much money i want from him. he could pay me $700, just 1 night. thats less than the cost of a pair of pants that his mother made. when i say no for the 5th time he presses a large hand firm into my chest says ok $500. blowjob. that i'm a good girl and that he wants my best. every woman he takes home has a good time. 


i've never given a man a blow job and think of my girlfriend and his mother and dying babies i can give him my best there can be sculptures of me. the hand still behind me now moves into my back pocket for a palm sized weapon to give him my best.

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pump  your step. let the halycon of honey clouds carry you to the miasma where I found puddy in our catena parts or a still thick and shiny alternative for honey. It really depends on the person.  I mean, most of us didn’t grow up that way. Its beck is in the “dd” and the wetness too. I opened my mouth. a trophy for being a decent friend and having a glory hole of a wallet.

the shiny parts reflect licentious ember, no-mores, and long walks. Burning to leave it alone. Put all my gadgets in there and shut the chamber which you melted into liquid the day i plopped you in a car burning in asphalt. They always do. the purple tube in my fingers belongs to no one. No one! i know  haircuts during mania/sanity make less of it in my face. easier to be seen at the belly on both sides. Just has to be cut. What is that? Ignored terror and bright flame under every kiss taught me about hiding, seeing, being. It was late. My old friend describes what I needed then as breathtaking now in valleys, mountains, the shore--whatever! did more shinies out of my mouth. Chowed out dream scatters that i stuffed inside the orifice bottom. An ingeminate of the same joke that snuck under the sheets, pace placed malaprop even. Do you see something cold and green fluorescence about me? I forgot the remainders in the cushion and the closet and the wolrd wide web. searched via Ctrl + h and yanked your sins out of my pussy. Spread its mouth again gauged in total elemasonary. Would you use this? You've got enough stuff. Mid bored rhythm, is this keeping your body alive? Everything left the redprint in a paper joined its other vile friends. I don't want them. I don't want them.  I don't want them. Ignoring the smell exposed a shrouded light about me/others affected/ flags in a trust-ship. Grabbed every single quarter i stored only left my pussy with other shinies. Exploited the body with Ctrl + h again, sphered more and deleted my own things to access faster. Soft points on sphere surfaces were distant easy.  The call is in the ere. Reads: “E-R-E.” verdant fields layered on me from equations i trust. Then blank, nothing spread then tucked it in cheeks. Honestly didn’t get that far, although my fingers sprawled a crawl border. 


Performance: Mayah Lovell

Photos: Safra Tadesse, Mayah Lovell 

Curation: Keenon Brice


The multidimensional planes of this work explore the dynamic between 8 planets in Earth signs all Trine to Uranus during Virgo season. In this story, practicality, primoidal code, and material are harmonized with technology, innovation, and communication.................. yet tectonic plates shift!

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