Words by Rachel McMullen


the platform bears it all:
centrifugal forces
drawing color to light – layering

a dash divides the sea

me: a tidal child surging
without the understanding
              of punctuation

as the banks are mangled

like revolving projections
turning art into a phonograph
it deserves more than a wall

and horizontal tends to be cold

because white is a feeling
the winter canvas
must always vandalize

finally, here they are:
the frayed ends of a meandering