Frank Boyd
15/06 – 13/07/2017

..therefor living in bondage can be a way of escaping. The mating season starts with a loud croak that dissolves into air like a warm breath. Dark violet shades of bijouterie hanging above the shoulders. Streams of illegal duplicates run like a wild animals. Rain hits hard..

..beige slug leaves a bitter layer of secrets. Talking drums babble on the changing weather. Subtle tones vibrate the images of the cosmos. Talk to tinnitus, hear its cries. Enter the shrine where smoke laughs at lasers. One of twins loses smell, the other talks to tortoise. Howl of the skull that married the daughter of a traveler. Wild tree-dwelling vines gives shadow to seven girls. A thread is lost in a hurry. Trajectory of my next move is determined by a magic stone. Yet I drink too much. The winds carry words back and forth leaving no trace of the question. Dirty shoes step to the beat. The heat is overwhelming. Roots sing the song of loneliness and slowly yawn. Stick into marmalade while brushing your yellow teeth. The moon is high, its round smile heals blisters. Feast of termites. Clean hand shakes with grace. Northern pebbles exhale worries, southern rods bend to the sound of morning hangover. Pistol grip shines like a diamond..

Photo: Raul Paul