Slices of Watermelon Tourmaline
I’m slipping hot water bottles between my thighs before I lay down to rest. My face is a stormcloud, all thunder and lightning, rarely sunny days / inventing repellents for high teenage boys in my kitchen.
I’m taking deep breaths, in and out, hands resting on my belly / attempting to practice transcendental meditation. Hissing at 3 year olds— I am never birthing a child, I can’t bear the frustration, I can’t bear no longer being selfish — I’m tired all the time.
I don’t ever know what shoes to wear, the weather is always transitioning, just like my plans. But at least my shoes know who they are, what they will amount to. They don’t know where they’re going, but they’ve got high hopes. More than I can say for myself, I slump in chairs, feel sad that I’m not getting asked back.
I don’t look foward to much of anything these days, it’s too much work.
Sound a brake followed nothing it’s flower withers between ninety-two cobblestones. Sound braking followed by bouquet of junk clattering, broadens into sound organ, middle of the street.
Ships in ports not to float on circles in petroleum sky, not sea, not at sea. Sea’s for jellyfish upside down raise tentacles like masts.
One day towers departed castle for windmills, at Emnoelie fair, are two pairs of arms full of fingers and time to time castle towers greeted one another. Today have become streetmills, will always be for mills for wool or mills for
Kerry James Marshall Souvenir III, detail, 1998 acrylic with glitter on unstretched canvas banner 9 x 13
“Second Skin” exhibition designed by Nick Cave and Bob Faust.
Solo exhibition, “Sojourn,” at the Denver Art Museum.
The last days in Chimalistac
Installation at Kunsthalle Basel, Switzerland
"Composed and Performed" installation
Ever Gold Gallery
By Deborah Frempong
New York based photographer, Nakeya B’s work is noted for its relatability and ability to flip the gaze on to the viewer, forcing them to see themselves in her photographed subjects. This characteristic is replicated in her photo series on ‘Good Hair’, an exploration of the obsession and consumption of “natural feeling, lighter, softer” Kanekalon hair, within the black community.
if you’re upset about something
want anger and frustration
to leak from your lips like lead
lace or lilacs, a trail of it
following you from your bedroom
to the kitchen, your front porch,
up and down stairs, lines and lines
of it, wet and mostly pale in color
splashes of teal and magenta making patterns on your carpet…
don’t hold it in,
spill it out,
let it loose.
can we all just have a minute of silence for all those good hair days no one important saw you