A deer!—nibbling on the few green thingsthat grow in my strawy meadow.Mine, we say here: my studio, my meadow, my road.It is as it is. We were bornto possess it all and more. There’s no longera chance to change direction. So have one. Have a meadow,Try it on—there are black-eyed Susans in your hair.Have a deer. Have a deer fly—(I had twoof them yesterday. My stained tablet backs me up).Have a swallow. Try to hold it in your throatas it goes down beyond the pines of your forest.But first feel its presence, try to catchits essence. Before the words intrude.
—Joan Murray, from “Possession”Art Credit Wolfgang Tillmans
from theparisreview.
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A deer!—nibbling on the few green things
that grow in my strawy meadow.
Mine, we say here: my studio, my meadow, my road.
It is as it is. We were born
to possess it all and more. There’s no longer
a chance to change direction. So have one. Have a meadow,
Try it on—there are black-eyed Susans in your hair.
Have a deer. Have a deer fly—(I had two
of them yesterday. My stained tablet backs me up).
Have a swallow. Try to hold it in your throat
as it goes down beyond the pines of your forest.
But first feel its presence, try to catch
its essence. Before the words intrude.

Joan Murray, from “Possession”
Art Credit Wolfgang Tillmans

from theparisreview.