46, abandoned

Taken down to the sea. Left standing in a tree and pointing something out. Forever damp, playing a part from long ago. Rolling up and rolling out after forty years. Wearing belstaff jacket and hat and leaning on moss, high in the clouds.

It's raining or misty and you instead take me down to the sea, rolled up in a carpet.

It happens every day and you first take off my jacket and hat. There's only so much of this I can take. You avoid too much repetition climbing into a tree. I say a tree and it might still be there. So much more happens in any story and I get cold at night. Began writing instead of video.

To be abandoned first involves sharing, silence, then talking, but not both at the same time.

(from curatorial dreams)    

Christopher Sands, still, 3 July 2020