[Moshe]

Announcement for a poem
Ben Estes Kim Gordon Rick Myers


Flying Object, Hadley, MA.


15th July - 14th August 2011
Opening 6-8pm 15th July


The fibers of the page became pronounced. Lit another cigarette, crossed my legs, and settled back. Shadows cast by its pages became as prominent as the words. Bravo, another wall collapsed… all the loving attention I’d need. How about we all undog this hatch and get the hell outta here. The sun threw no shadow at its feet, near the edge of the motionless flat water, where at the same spot the same small wave welled up and broke. 94 minutes of total astonishment. A dislocating picture; similar to a white background cut into innumerable little rectangles, or a rising fog that begins to mix with the slow dissipation of gun smoke. According to its most favorable calculations, it brims with bracing humor and ravishing romance - but there are also haunting shadows, luxuries no longer expensive… that alone makes it a keeper. If you pretend to understand, you will find yourself among its ambiguities - liberated from all rigid structures… Like some great rusted amulet fallen from the belt of a demi-god picking cigarette butts up off the ground. A miracle. Pitch perfect. Much beauty found most difficult. At low tide it remains extremely modest, strewed like the leather sides of trunks and briefcases, wet and shining in an electric glare in the naked mud. Kids no doubt have better games to play. An attack upon action, glancingly funny. Genuinely graceful, looking like the yellow of that longest lasting rose. It becomes difficult to determine whether you are turning its pages towards or away from you, the body, a giant gray spot on the concrete road. A sad creature. Offered it a job. Our very life probed. It has only happened once, but once is enough… If you get bushwhacked on this don’t come cryin’, and I’ll try not to tell you I told you so. Victory emerged. An early death, a group example that then included nature barely slanting backwards, a blackish surface of pretended gentleness, spoken without anger between extremities like a crushed corpse. Only at the end of its cycle could a few sounds, distorted by the distance, be heard again, served up for us to look upon. Take thought tonight… A boy about 10 years old, wearing a yellow turtleneck sweater and tight blue denim pants, turned his face upward and to the right. Diffuse yet powerful in its mystery, with no allusions to a moral order. A good-time universal anxiety. Inks absorption into the page becomes evident, reads like a detective story or a thriller, except that there was no reason for it to stop. The next step is to find a way to project this as a sensual stream of energy. You couldn’t be a true woman if you didn’t fear such things. Oh to live the exquisite life! An adventure of comedic proportions unseen since I was six years old. Once it gave itself a name it seemed impossible to kill it. Do not be deceived… The letters dislocate themselves from each other and from the page. Like pretend virginity, it tortures a little, then cascades forth - unsentimentally gushing about with purposeful abandonment after the first half calculates discipline and restraint.