Milo Christie
Maybe this giant should not be allowed to play in an empty house forever OILY in its unreality
The fire is turned on after practice in the mirror
Wide mouth other way NO other other
way the passing located in the viewing the
leisure & earthenware roaring for the storehouse
reaching there by nose Live the life of a
fetus eaten by the poets who think about it We
implant them w/ eyes used When this wood was
used cousin Piquette & Oliver arrived at the
school – In the sea of quiescence
there is a castle is a field running & living
Oxygen is split between & the power stations fall in
We in fury could put a hole through the elector while an
instrument plays & water pours – A gentle langour
brick–work was blowing Deprivation
They own the whole harbor & the landlady
When we lie on the ground cold
if he broke the furniture in the
cold the sky will shine in its blues & gold
– One day the outhouse will be a seed–paradise
There will be birds The planks will be embedded w/
cracked corn w/ white millet canary seed
sunflower’s coarse chips & pieces of its black oil red millet
thistles thistles thistles & there will be so many
birds when your self is emptied & you will shit the ball of
majority – But then it gets closer &
drowned in another feeling
––––
It has only been about ten & a half hours since the universe started
They encouraged
it much like a juggernaut or a scandal The s
hithole water–tank - Pull away
– Bodrie told McFarland while the bickering god
drifted ashore down after the cut firs
– my brainstorms we shall soon be in punch away
– Two hundred from the shot–gun they were
surrogate Harakiri on the ketch
different only when looking forwards & around trying to catch
– Peter wetness enough The swing
skybursts his canoe w/ the healing virtue of the thing
noticed I stepped back & looked down my feet there was nothing
but waves They searched the rugged coastline
again swamped McFarland the first to
the end of respect – Imagine the
stories in all the dust growing stiff from the futile
sea – water
– Well I happened to watch around the street &
the chips of the wood held on the face of its
potential closer than a leaf – Thick
air they say your voice catches the particles way more & it flings
––––
Milo Christie (b.2000 Berkeley, CA) lives and works in Chicago. He co-directs Weatherproof, an artist-run space.