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It could be handfuls of reds

It could be turning Caravaggio’s Boy with Basket of Fruit to face the wall

It could be a commission by the Guggenheim entitled Deforms the Unborn

It could be the demon Vetis, whose friends call Him The Life Promiser

It could be that in 1918 a pregnant Mary Turner was hung upside down from a tree by a lynch mob while they cut out her fetus & that this could happen today, as it did then, without consequences for whitey

It could be handfuls of natural pearls

It could be collaborations with master Haitian drummers

It could be doing the wrong thing together forever

It could be long lists of how The Devil’s acts towards children before, during & after their possession

It could be short lists of produce, insects & imagined blues musicians

It could be handfuls of an insane 9 year old's feces smushed on the lunch table

It could be a psychedelic Chicago house song about a pig & about your parents

It could be your dad’s new husband gave you his boyhood viola

It could be a collaboration with master Yoruba drummers

It could be handfuls of cactus spines & a poison dart

It could be your sister has cancer & they keep chopping parts of her body off

It could be a conscripted arco bass piece that was a dedication to Turkish feminists

It could be Jack Smith has a film called Normal Love

It could be scisssssssors, air conditioner tubes, glasses of ice & seashells

It could be handfuls of hot pink Make Noise 1/8inch audio cables

It could be that Nature is making it clear to us that we deserve it and that we are making it clear to Her that we are ready, ready to go

It could be a short novel called The Rhythm Section Talked about Drugs, The Horn Players Talked about Ass & The Strings Talked about Money

It could be improvised vocals by Elliot Reed & orchestrated vocals by Eugene Robinson

It could be that European religious paintings of male martyrs depict them surrounded by chubby, adoring angels, everyone’s tearful mothers & converted sex workers dutifully sponging out their holy & shallow wounds

It could be that European religious paintings of female martyrs depict them with their nipples being torn off, throats branded & their naked torsos flayed while they are totally alone aside from the men torturing them

It could be handfuls of Diamanda Galás & Roy Orbison action figures

It could be that despite the confusion of this life, people who can still truthfully call themselves human try to push through 2019’s collecting horror

It could be slowed down & fuzzed out field recordings of disappearing frogs

It could be flat purple & black or glossy black & purple

It could be mescal in a bottle & baby on a boob, hair dyed blonde for nobody, nobody move

It could be handfuls of that you just have to stop being a wuss & deal with it

It could be…