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.

Cracks.
Snaps.

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