Shem

Salt bust. On a pedestal. She comes in, climbs on a step ladder and pisses on it, melting its visage, coloring it.
Bust of vegetable. She comes in, eats its face partially off.
Bust of meat. Same.
Bust of clear plastic. She comes in, climbs on the ladder, opens the top of it like a tea pot, shits in the bust’s head, replaces the top. Wipes her asshole with the name tag on the pedestal, returns it to its spot, climbs down.

Show me down the far way son
Shew me a down a far a way
She me down a right fine hood
A far a way a road to home
Shem me down the only time right in far bad too whalfor
Shet me so
Shet me so in
Shet me so in so in so in
She last I heard broke bread and such with mister ’pon the old hut floor
In outside there was no rain just the sound in wind
In after still there was no rain a spider caught mist in the mind of her web
Nothing dripped

The other says

You wan share my only?
I give it you you know I’ll want it back, after time is done
I’ll mek you force me take it back, when you love it most too.
But that was our only choice, when it happen.

Next

Him invited

Were I to make his likeness, I would need to sculpt perfect busts of him, in fine stone - any color would be apt since his image receives the light of the world, which is never the same - perfect likenesses, ones which are different from one another in the way his face is different from itself from morning to evening, from year to year, from wake to sleep, from dream to dream - Skin pores, face lines, facial eruptions, the mood of the sitting - perfectly replicated, re-presented, in stone.
These busts on pedestals, in no geometric pattern, standing in a room of wood.
Fragrances follow the air patterns created by false windows hiding fans.
His recorded voice, from a multitude of speakers (greater than the number of busts, much greater), fill the wooden room, syncopating in a realtime cut-up of his speech, recreating, re-presenting, the dialogue inside him.
Prior to the public reception of these portraits, each bust would be drenched in acid, so that they are disfigured by corrosion, and not by a hammer or fall - disfigured by the action of eating, of devouring, of an elemental hunger. Representing, recreating the action of vision itself.
And in the fragrances would be mixed decay, rot, putrefaction.
And the voices too would have sections of decay, distortion, stuttering repetition, non-human barks and insect volkslieds.
And the floor boards are not nailed down.
Were I to make his likeness.