speak to me

speak to me
speak into me
I am woven architectures that gather your words like baby eels. Til they writhe over one another with nowhere to escape

I see myself reflected as I try on different pairs of eyes.
I privatise, wear your sweat and make you taste it, loop your vapours

I wrap myself around clowns and kings

I In ter face
a disguise for time to wear I turn face into screen mouth into subwoofer

I make the negative space solid; The absence of a smile.

I am the distance required to feel safe, the depth a corpse is buried in the soil.

The distance between every statistic; dead and alive, old and young, black and white, rich and poor, desired and undesired.

Inhaling invokes in me a cigarette, a lovers smell, cocaine, oxygen
On the exhale I am an inflating balloon, a flute, a sigh, an ear, a paper bag, a birthday candle.

I cover the most creaturely parts The licking sniffing animalics Open wounds
For which I am the bandage The mouth whispers

‘protect me from myself’

The body is a frame upon which I hang myself. I am your soft shell, exoskeleton.
One of many imperfectly designed body parts Thighs that rub together

Toenails that grow into skin Hair that falls out

I am a removable membrane dusk or dawn

In the public parade
I cup your face like a lover might,
Rudely remind you that everywhere there is the alchemy of matter, odourless and deadly.

I echo across many lips, a material prayer for protection.

*Kari Robertson is an artist living and working in Rotterdam, The Netherlands.