Ellie Davies, Smoke and Mirrors Heathland 3, 2013 (Artist Website)
C-Type lightjet print on Fuji crystal archive paper
The dentist is tired of mouths; the mower,
tired of grass. In the same way, I turn page
after page, looking for some new thrill.
The habit is consoling; each sheet of this book
is secured to the spine. In the reclining chair,
the expert says I won’t lose the tooth.
Of course, there are exceptions to every rule.
Things split into most and least desirable:
the weeds or the wacker, Novocaine or the drill.
Despite all precautions, the needle nicks
a nerve. Numbness a kind of monotony.
Will I feel anything ever again? Answer: maybe not.
I said it before and I’ll say it forever:
the tree has bark for a reason. Nothing ever
does it easy. Blink twice if you’re fine.
It’s hard to cry out with a mouth full of hands.
Do no harm, the bulldozer yells,
then razes your home to the ground.