Do a Little Holy Thing, Club George Gallery, Northampton, Massachusetts, 2022

the things we do and have always done You can be new, I am old. I did something wrong. You prepare a table Green, Red, father of Yourself, mother of Yourself. Hither to me, self-begotten, (created) without cast seed, incorporeal, ruler---- hidden----- true. Grab me one of those sticks I need to knock the birds. Stones, bent turned towards the future, going toward it, coming from it, proceeding  “[He] does not know what to do with all these skulls.
But if he abandons them! . . . Will he cease to be himself?” You were like an egg.

Everyone was extremely careful with you. The faith of a mustard seed. The fantasy which strives towards boundlessness is formed and shaped. We can say that fantasy becomes fruitful only where it is obliged to restrict itself within definite forms. The substance of illusion, that which is allowed to the Infant, becomes the hallmark of madness when an Adult puts too powerful a claim on the credulity of others, forcing them to acknowledge a sharing of illusion that is not their own.