Amalgam One for Now, 2018
Ice is a piled mound
Next to a bottle of flavored vodka
And a can of Schweppes.
Chuck Close arrives.
Exclamations and arms are extended out in glee.
No one bats an eye.
Except Jean and his friend.
She stiffens up a bit
Nods to Jean
And strides toward the kitchen.
A screen hovers above the floor.
A pitchfork digs a shallow trench.
A metal wheel spins into a blur.
Argent is said to represent the moon.
Two men lower a wooden frame onto a dirt mound topped by a concrete slab.
They work somberly, speaking no words.
Shadowed people sit, stand and watch.
A man strikes a bucket.
Wet concrete rolls out.
Between a throng of people, backs turned, with talk as an indecipherable wave,
is, against a far wall, a partial view of two paintings.
Bare brown feet, legs, light blue boxers the color of the sky billowing, brown torso, light reflecting off his chest, the young man, bleached yellow hair, faces us, looks at us, smiles broadly, stands on bright orange, the boat’s front tip, rising up and down above the sea, immersed in sky, absorbed by sky, reflecting light, rising up and down, smiling, looking at us.
It’s ok to go home now.
They idle beside a meticulously handsome red-brick building.
He needs to blow some major bits of congestion from his nose.
There is no screen door.
He hits play on the iPhone screen cupped in his hand.
Word sounds shriek, crushing all ears.
The sound of wind and waves.
But he was so young and fun to watch. And the city then…
A faint plume of transparent gray curls up from the tip of a chisel.
The U.S. says “God has favored our undertakings”.
It is not anywhere.
This is a work of fiction that includes observations by the author viewing Steve McQueen’s “Ashes” 2002–2015, two-channel video transferred from 8mm and 16mm film, two-sided screen, and posters.