Abbas Akhavan

Wikipedia Poem, No. 565

abbas-akhavan1

Abbas Akhavan, Fatigues, 2014; Detail (White-tailed Deer); Taxidermy animal. 48 x 150 x 179 cm; Contemporary Art Museum of Montreal

around politics 
   art finds 
(politeness &
   broken up like meringues 
   receives convalescence 
          
 
   — here's our alma matermill
   — the center that finds the new center 
for 
a curtain & documents proving exploitation 
in fabrication a/o the study of reading habits
          
—   
& 
foundry 
   — montreal 2017  
   — hackensack 2017 
   — so many things are stacked
museums 
            
—   
& perspectives
stuck   & solo exhibitions including nature
& how we remember september 
   (not even paris immune

David Altmejd

Wikipedia Poem, No. 564

david-altmejd2

David Altmejd, Untitled, 2012; Contemporary Art Museum of Montreal

paramount 
    — he used 
   sculpture eye 
       (a complex 
         installs such involving 
motif   in his 
    mirrors   motivated canada 
2017 reflections 
    of 
making paramount 
     —       he 
is paramount 
         — he 
is paramount — he used 
sculptures he 
is 
paramount — he 
  is paramount — 
  he 
involving perspex 
structures    survey exhibition from the process of 
      a major surface of his hands 
      and exterior and destabilize    as well in 
        luxembourg 
   objects    such as 
a well as crystals as worlds of things    
in process 
of material connections generates 
      he is paramount — he involving is 
          is paramount — he is 
paramount — he is

American Womanhood

i see her sipping tea
she wants to write
the Great American Joke Book

about consumerism
sour-milk yellow sniffling yolk but

they get in the way
the hardcover wesleyan
in a cable-knit sweater
the canadian monthly
masked in a methylin-soaked love letter

hands up baby
hands up

“But if I said it was the only thing that mattered
That everything else was play, was yarn, was
A 40-year-old Knock Knock joke, would you”

their theories enjamb me
up against the wall, headlines
like licorice fingernails
like bricks — she draws blood

the thinking woman left to only sit
and listen to what’s left of rain
sweet and silent, waiting, pried
loose by synthetic rubber.