Cut Ribbons 2008 He hums to the brush of waves slicking the sand he then squeezes between his toes. The smell of summer after a good storm, just before the wet heat creeps back in. A nosebleed, iced and resting in wait for more, but nothing else haunts the horizon. He broke, a vase priceless and uncovered in tombs unmolested. Memories bolting through turnstiles, deep into the imagination for facelifts and new identities. He remembers the seconds missing, his wrist clicks before machine gun kisses. A sort of elderly light cuts the sky, whitewashed and fantastic, calla lilies stitched in an old green towel he didn’t remember keeping. Armor peeled off backward, in motions that shape it like cut ribbons. Shred, drag and pull to curl and make beautiful, undone.