AN EDGE, AT LEAST I THINK SO
A HAND, GRASPING A SHOULDER PLANE, CLEANING
MY WORK IS AT THE EDGE OF THE IMAGE’S CROP
BETWEEN WHEN THE BODY BEGINS AND WHEN THE BODY ENDS
A post on the bulletin reads:
“Looking for Love.”
The post includes a photograph of a man, cropped from bottom
of his nose to the top of his knees. He is smiling in the photograph, with his
hands on his hips, creating a crude diamond shape around his torso.
I SAY WHEN BECAUSE THE CROP—A DIVISION OF SPACE—IS ALSO AN
ACTION
IT IS ALSO AN INSTRUCTION
THERE IS NO SEPARATION BETWEEN WORK AND LIFE
WHAT DO YOU DO?
SOME BODY HAS TO DO IT
THE THRESHOLD OF THE COMMENT BOX LOOKS BACK
THAT WHICH I SHOULD HAVE DONE I DID NOT DO
THE INSIDE OF MY GLOVE IS SOFT
THE INSIDE OF MY BOOT IS SOFT
MY UNDERSHIRT IS SOFT
MY SOCKS ARE SOFT
MY UNDERWEAR IS SOFT
THERE IS A PERFECT EDGE
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