May 17, 2020

Was I Always Mute?

Veronika Desova, 25

Walls are rhythmically shrinking, while my head is diabolically spinning – was I always mute? I’m coated in a layer of alien dust which explains the changing pigmentation of my cold limbs; I think I could smell the freedom – oh, wait, my smell is gone; I think I could taste the pub rust – oh, wait, my mouth is glued; I think I could touch his smoky skin – oh, wait, my fingers have melted; Black night flowers are twisting under the red moon – hey, Alexandra, I may not see you so soon.

Frosty Nap, 2020Oil and acrylic on paper42 x 59.4cm