Britt Ford Dance Artist
From Lets Talk Sugar, 2013
To whispered dreams and the walls that contain them.
Once light, permeable, breatheable,
they have grown thick.
stop, don’t stop, stop.
In a torrent of particles that used to fit
and the sneaking suspicion that they never will.
fight, don’t fight, fight.
Dreams turn to hope,
Reality fuels suspicion,
and the walls have become unbearably still.
Optimism unlike gravity.
run, don’t run, run.
Searching the sky
sick with smog
the stars have nothing to say.
Searching the sky
but the stars won’t tell me shit
and I can’t tell if it’s your eyes or mine.
But here’s to the past, unknowing, and thick walls.
Whispers of the future,
and the little strings that keep breaking and unbreaking.
Tar, from the recesses of blindness.
look, don’t look, look
Sight like marbles
curved, never focused
slipping, slipping by.
No upward thought momentum motion or thought,
tar in my belly,
and a never ending pause in my brain.
To whispered dreams and the walls that contain them.
believe, don’t believe, believe.
Suspension of time and place.
The beginnings of whispers.
But here’s to the past
unknowing
and invisible walls.
From Piece #3, 2014
When we are falling there is this fear we're in the wrong place, that should we be elsewhere, that we are lost, and perhaps a litttle tainted. As we fall further heat begins to bouy us, to fill us. Our organs ignite and begin to expand as flames engulf the space behind our hearts. A slow burn caresses throat, temple and skull. And we are full.
We are all collections of smaller parts-- burning, burned, or waiting to catch fire.
Last night I dreamt.
Staring brightly in the mirror, ropes of black slime wound around my eye ball. Little pieces came off on my finger but there was more. I began to pull and the rope slowly unwound from the frame of my eye. Eye back into socket. My lips are still stained red. I have only shallow breaths and insides coated in yesterdays booze. Staring into the mirror feels less bright, but i've been trying to stay in the dark