There’s a face that can’t blink hovering on hooks above a door.
Some fools totter off the nature strip, others trip across the camber. Warmth here keeps a soft throng, but cold can bring a hard clout.
Archer Sreet Crossing | Garry Pumfrey | oil on linen | 89.5 x 119.5cm | 2010
Drive a thousand miles at breakneck, at least until your nerve folds.
Act like there’s a bullet in a soft cyst and its floating near your spleen.
Sketch a heat-map of the gone souls. Call it ’empty’. Call it ‘open’?
