shy cabbage


ELECTRIC LOTUS / INCENDIUM RADICAL LIBRARY / 2019


I stitch my tongue to a lotus cabbage head.

I stunt my growth by applying powder to my amnesia
it sticks to my eye like a flowering gramophone.

it is not that I can’t speak.

in my past life as a teacher, I cut off my own head with a handmade instrument to give to the people of the swan. now, my ring finger wriggles between the lips of a carnivorous फूल.

a pink circle on my left wrist represents the way my blood turns to cotton when my mouth is absent. I trust the feeling of yellow and other incarnations of the Sun.

I play a melodica to my reflection and my reflection does not play back because my reflection is not a loop machine, it is a time machine.

it is not that I can’t speak.

it is that expression in the face of a cabbage is shy.

there is a text stitched to my tongue which reads:

the birth of the saint happened on my skull
the birth of the saint happened on my skull

there is a text stitched to my tongue which reads:

a sacrifice made for me is stitched like a curtain
my growth is stunted by sea major.


Mark