by kelly shaw willman
she dreamed that the waterbed (in your room with no windows) was peeled open like a can of something (cat food/clams) & down/down/down inside, she watched deep-ocean-creatures with skinsss of bones (& popcorn eyes) forage the way by means of lanterns dangling from their melons. she begged you to call their bitch asses to explain (sweetly) that she was sick again— it was the egg salad served by the lunch ladies (or the shark that Father John made her try at his party.) she’d stay home instead & fill her yellow sand bucket with chamomile-seashell-stew for the killer bee that lived in the horse trailer— she would even rake the cement floor with Dad, never mind the great horned owl that lived in the rafters … but she boarded the bus (Jay-the-driver was magenta, his overalls navy & white, his lungs black/black/black) and watched Beth & Tina cartwheel up and down the aisle, pausing only to remember their stringed crystals & dangly earrings.
kelly shaw willman is an (experimental) (outsider) performance artist. as a performance artist, she blends sound, installation, & ritual; she gravitates towards sites in nature. kelly was raised among the cornfields of Eastern Iowa, & has lived in Brooklyn & Costa Rica. currently, the artist explores SE Asia. Follow her: BLOG / INSTAGRAM / SUPPORT the ART
