Mary suddenly laughs. Of course not yes
no never in a million years. Mary talking
talking. Mary up a tree smoking. Mexican food
with Mary. Quantum mechanics. Everything
flattened, pleated, flush. Inexpensive
metal shelving full of doll parts.
Typical of such work, a grid of interlocking
rectangles is juxtaposed with a pile of rubble.
How hard it is to get at the human heart.
Mary talking about falconry, about hail.
At any moment an announcement’s expected
but that’s what moments are for, always
something destroyed, something raised
from the ocean floor and subsequent legal
wrangles. She wants to wrap the trees in silk.
Next slide. Identical blocks of creosote
may mean the body is a bird in flight
stilled by electroshock. Typical of such work,
the blood is fake but the bleeding’s real.
Getting at her heart. Getting her to shut up
about Agnes Martin and polar exploration.
Mary suddenly in tears. Actually it’s fiberglass.
Eidos means, in Greek, a visceral image
of a mental state. There’s no such thing
as a mistake. Does she ever sleep? As if
by accident: a delicate feather, the face
rubbed out, the face replaced by a bunch of grapes.
When the maggots pupate, the show’s over.
Hot water in a rock declivity. Mary suddenly
alone, her boat capsized, never seen again.
Alternately, moves to Berlin, starts an influential
magazine. Wood crutches, bathrobes, newspaper,
glue, bone. Dimensions unknown.