Junk Sculpture at Environmental Centre
To Whom it may concern,
I am not your average detritus,
A lump, collection of consumption so epic you may consider me a Utopian epiphany.
The Psychic death of suburbia.
I am your dreams discarded,
A wasteland of entropy.
The ‘accidental’ geographic mass marketed
screaming collections of ongoing jutting electric Eclectic relocated Human Egos.
static and stoic,
Iceberg and wonderland of One.
While you were away,
fleeting moments they did smile,
shine down surmise and expand exponential growth for miles .
Wander a path of flow, anchored, rooted in entanglement
Edging tiny parts poised and positioned
Exotic Limbs and handles,
forming a foreign new country of settlement
Forging an epidemic
Were your homes too tiny to re-establish
Your bones too fragile to carry your own burdens?
If you were here, you would be home by now.
Nostalgia critic, aghast the premise of your once loved treasures.
Bloated by diplomatic, automatic, climatic selfies.
Reboot, Uplift and Recycle
discarded remains morphine to my skeletal seethed empire of adaption.
Pack and pick my bones.
Encrusted, awash with untold stories of your memories.
Now my treasures.
Winged, sedated environments split doors wide open
A galley of existence
A Threshold to the nexus of a reality that you should know.
enter this shock, make peace with your errors, grow new bones, paper tigers.
To Be Bold, Genuine and Honest. Advocate. Change.
All the armor and ignorance in the world cannot lend you protection.
I’m making my way towards you.