Erika Swinson
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Nothings

Don't be afraid.
I'm looking at you 
this way because 
I'm cold.
Cold?  
No, just old.

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She is gnawing.
My stomach growls.
That is all.

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I would like to be seen and heard.
Are you ready?
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The categories call to her as we play while I like it all mixed up.  We switch places in our real lives, of course.

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I just woke up in this body one day.
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I have put on my
thinking cap and am
now ready for thoughtful
inaction.
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He squealed as the 
thought of a purple leprechaun now 
living in your butt 
(already containing everything) because it
became far too much.

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There is a lightness to 
this place that is sensed most when you see the deer right outside the door.


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Taking out the trash makes
me feel like a good man.  Like I 
am paying homage to all of those
TV show Dads and the can.
Just then, as I 
decided to feel 
lucky again, I 
smiled and 
shouted, 
"Fuck it all to hell!"

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He keeps changing his name while saying, 
"Take your vitamins."
Is he alphabet impaired?

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Just because the
lights shine doesn't mean
it will or won't be all right.
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Wink!  That is what I say.
Wake up and wink everyday.
Ha, ha, ha.
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The rusted places on
my soul are crumbling.
Can you hear the clanking in
the night as these
chains shift?
Now I am gone.
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I was trying to back the fucking car up without 
running over that damn cat while she sat shotgun
laughing at me, the spatially impaired sculptor, in action.
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We keep going through it.  Taking one step at a time.
It's like grown-up hopscotch.
Jumping but without admitting there is less reason or rhyme.

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© Erika Swinson : Undermining the Everyday : Contact : Home

  • Home
  • About
    • Artist Statement
    • CV
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  • Projects
  • Contact