the little grey dog in love with its chains
never knew metal from moss
and why would it? What is it about captivity
That teaches tricks so quick, like fetch, or
play dead. Listen, I wanted so badly
To take that damn dog for a stroll and
teach it freedom. Look, there is nothing
lovelier than a roll on the lawn and
forgiveness or bolting towards whatever is next
but those little legs never left what it knew.
I do not know what else to say other than
you can only ask so many times.
Before you just head west, but
I only ever made it to the end of the driveway
102. Phillipe Chatelain + Anda Totoreanu
I only ever made it to the end of the driveway—
A place you can be at home without arriving,
warm lights inside beckoned but I wasn't ready.
In this world of many could you find me?
Is that your shadow in the rain on my pavement?
The drops take shapes i know your face would make.
Stepping through them, I create new ripples—
Tracking your stain with me towards the hedges
Let me find a new home for you
And all the milk inside your head
spilling into the cracks of the sidewalk—a web
Decide for once you feel such numb galore
reach inside pull out the tangles
And here is the window and here is the door
103. Alexis Wanzell + Nicholas Adamski
and here is the window and here is the door
a choice between touching clouds or resenting their altitude
between busting them with our minds or lying on our backs in the long grass, playing that game with the shapes, that one
it's a witty puzzle, where they all exist on the same playing field though will never truly fit together,
unless we sink into a deeper kind of silence, of listening, and touch the ground in a way that teaches us to
see ourselves in skies that feel too out of reach
and to remember that every shape that exists is constantly shifting, changing into some other form, the only difference is speed
And we start to find grace in our pace, in each phase of the evolution that defines the mass of our silhouettes
What joy, to feel the weight of this shadow, to stand between the sun and the earth, to exist
As the intersection between certainty and surrender
to remember the mud and that time, by the stream, in the springtime, when the bank gave way beneath you, and you fell,
and you sunk to depths that have been waiting to show you a new surface,
to help us lift this veil and finally with luck we’ll trim these sails,
for there are stranger seas ahead, my dear, and I have seen them.