Perhaps you were lucky enough to see the show
[https://www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/marina-abramovic-marina-abramovic-the-artist-is-present-2010/]
—before face masks and travel restrictions and crowd reductions and social
distancing and quarantine and COVID-anything-at-all.
iv.
I am bad at graphs, charts,
and calligraphy that magnifies facts.
If Hockney is not an iPad artist,
I’m not a poet of protests
but someone who cautiously writes
about Hong
The summer I was ten, I woke in the mornings having dreamt of arrowheads. I grew
up on a ranch in the Rockies, a place of fields and forest which were, to me,
Daumier’s feculent caricatures,
A glossy nightmare behind the glass,
Because the rows, the typed labels,
The industrial panes are what we require
To keep them from waking, speaking,
Compelling us to stay
When the words Waiting for the host to start this meeting appear on the TV
screen, I call, “I figured out how to AirPlay the iPad to the Roku” to the
kitchen, where
