—For Shin Hae-uk
It was reported that no one knew her well enough

to befriend her—this is the genius of her con

as this word clips onto this word and so on, forming

a pattern beneath the bustline of her figure patiently

standing on wooden floorboards in the centre of a room.

If you listen, a voice above wills you to shut your eyes—

inhale a deep breath and whisper—even though I have

been stripped of installation I know I deserve money

in my life. For the sake of a scene, the room is in a house

with no fence, yet mounds of dirt indicate barriers to regard

the yard as plot. And who is actually addressed here?

If you outline lips with gloss, eyes with shadows and hair

with layers, a loose embodiment may be skulled. After

swallowing, you grasp that the line beneath her bust is no

small thing. Trembling, she guides you into another room.