Artboard 12
Focus On

22.03.2020 - 10H59 by La peau de l’ours

Fruit Loops Clémence Didion

Those cosmic shapes
in the colours of neon.
The pigments are coming,
quietly, to dye the white grounds.


Fruit Loops-Clémence Didion

Such as tiny monoliths
that have crumbly firmness:
a milky way,
bites them slowly.
They’re sinking,
crumbling down.

I admire the show.
I catch sight of my stare:
it’s dripping.

My asymmetric face.
My misshapen lips.
The coloured trickles
and the lactic falls.

In a world
shaped by my thoughts:
rings and tubes,
those moving systems.

It crunches under my teeth.
It softens up.

It crunches under my teeth. It softens up.

Those trivial-looking chaps.
Funny faces.
Daily fears.
My thousand appearances.

My eyes turn away from the back of my spoon.
Reality; next to convexity.
It still blurring my perception.

I see smiles fluttering and lingering.
Surrounding me.
As if, the creatures of clay had,
with no explanation, left my imagination.

Vincent Vanden Bogaard