Hollow Core Kouros
Hanna Umin
February 16 - March 16, 2021
@
Love
New York, NY
Hollow core kouros.
First time I heard I love you, 16, he was bloated glazed over and teenage, depressed, recently unwired jaw diet pepsi drool, cum yellowed on the wall by his bed, said I was the only thing good in his life. Six moldy guinea pigs in an aquarium and a moth problem, they’d push swarm up at you when you pull back the mesh top, I still have a fear. Second time, 17, mattress in an empty living room, he said it to me the night before her funeral. Both times I said thank you.
Highbeam shine on the blue black glass orb eye of that mercy doe the man shot for us.
He was planning a memorial— I didn’t know. We were both too tired. Last time I fell in was so long ago, 6, 7 years maybe, vulture nose small eyes long sigh. Solemn sex by floodlight... it’s been so long, I don’t remember what it is or how it could be. All I can remember, all I know, is that
love, love, love equals death, death, death.
