this useless tool, this folded flower

abrons art center | nyc | march 28/29, 2015

c | ian douglas

looking down, looking within himself, within that head that mind that could not stop running with thoughts, with himself thinking, damn, hey, will you look at that, you there. hi. i think something is missing here. Could you, maybe, just look at me, damn. that hair, i want to run my...through that space between, your legs are sore from running so stop, and spread your lips and your legs are sore from running. this is a comfortable nest. rest. your lips within mine. part them. unwrap them this parcel this gift, this poison, this. i want to run my... through that space between you and i caught within the fine hairs that ran down the back of his neck 

and 

he stared, reached his arm forward, lips parting, 

you spend your time in a middle ground, not particularly great at anything, not a great son, not a great brother, not a great swimmer, athlete, activist, not a great friend, not a great fighter, not always a great listener, not a great american, not a great maker, not a great dancer, not a great body, not a great white shark, not so great to yourself. but decent. a decent person. a decent human being

and you think this is the way it should be, where things are comfortable, where things go unseen, where the grey area feels expansive like a wool blanket and wraps you up and shrouds you from being more than.