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Josephine Mead
from poem, to drawing, to sound

A poem, to a drawing, to a sound work …

(play)

To step outside of myself for a while,
To meet a mind with less complexity
The making comes after periods of exhaustion
The background was the colour of skin
I imagined the slip of the needle going through the flesh,
sewing the care and sewing the text.

The thin layer of tissue forming the natural outer covering of the body
I am ready to let every external aspect seep into me…

The mouth as an orifice,
a tool for eating,
kissing
and
speaking;
A tool for consuming and rejecting —

To eat until you are full.

My mouth was surrounded by tentacles;
my body meeting satellites and sea foam;
my days were marked by uneven edges,
reaching into one another.

Is that the colour of her knee?
The last roll of film;
She caught me.

She caught me.

Am I trying to resettle my memories into stages moments for future crowds?
I watched her memories slip away, many moons ago
Is this why I feel possessive of my own?
I am hoarding piles of images,
the wind can help me make decisions.

The image looks like an old punch-card from a library book:
To be borrowed, read and dishevelled
To crease edges of paper, marked by corner
To fold an ear to the edge of sound
To spin up content for consumption
To disquiet the ear to hear the picture
To silence my spirals; polyrhythmia.

To have or to end with corresponding sounds.