Mediums can only half sleep, plugged into the constant dead, who never rest but complain and petition, want favors and reassurances, want even love, of a limited kind, before the disaster of forgetting descends. Next to me in bed, wrapping the sheets tighter, you are a breathing wall of great shoulders; cried of hounding, making fists like a child with a pencil, record is your only recourse, you on one side, the long ago decreased with a champagne glass pressed to the other.
reach: 503.504.2768
stamp: 820 N. River, Suite 104 Portland OR 97227
gallery: blackfish.com