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He opened up the veins down the arms carved back the skin, held out one long limb to the audience who turned their curious/apathetic eyes. Dripping the white arm made the whites of their eyes big. He barked a laugh, waved the limb, the skin, opened veins, and he sat back, lit his cigarette, and dragged it in.
Charles, Amanda Wells, 2014
The levels rose so high, that noise became white - confetti noise. We had weighted proximity and we wielded positioning, our bodies like dancers, like smoke signals (and magnets). You whispered - sounds cut through the noise, confetti lines strewn and soft breath touches my cheek. Deliberate: I step close and can feel the air around you. A hand on an elbow, eyes fluttering closed and this is the dance we've crafted without words.
Weighted Proximity, Amanda Wells, 2014
Shimmering fingers pause over the bottle; hesitance made manifest. A shiver down a spine, a quiver in the lips, and you wonder how anyone is able to move their hands with such conviction; to grab or clasp, when this hand blurs from the effort of trying.
Hesitate, Amanda Wells, 2014
You told me you love me through your fingertips and that words would fail you. I added more weight to your touch and curled around your fingers. You told me I could read you through your hands, that your body spoke better than the sounds from your throat - I believed you. But what do I do when you stop touching me? I find my body stepping in your direction. I’m hanging in your vicinity a moment too long. I am trying to speak your language because I crave your absent touch.
Absent Touch, Amanda Wells, 2014
Like an unexpected thunderclap out of a suddenly darkened sky the grinding and crunching of metal rang up my spine. I remember less the pain, more the pressure of the convergence of matter and time into sound and an inexplicable weight on my chest and eardrums. You found me in a beam of LED torchlight - or was it the built-in feature of your phone? My twisted face, oddly attempting composure and sobriety for you, frantic, urgent stranger. I don't want to say darkness descends because that is so /melodramatic/, but something is happening behind my eyes. Colours are changing and I'm sure no one else can feel it.
Crashing, Amanda Wells, 2014
A fragment of glass can be ground back into sand, but once fired in white hot flame it will never return to the way it once was. Something chemical has taken place. Once part of some larger glass-shaped vessel, I had been made in fire. Since broken and ground back, now a similar size to my origins, I am irrevocably altered. I am different on a chemical level. (I cannot go back)
"Fragments, Chemicals", Amanda Wells 2014
Oh my creators, my mother, my father - found in my fingers flying around keys and pens and brushes. Found in noticing the way the light catches rivers, and high-rise building windows. Found in the way sudden expressions of violent passion prick tears into my vision, prick my breast so that I curl inwards instinctively protective. Found in that accident of man meeting woman, of love, of commitment, of conception and raising up. Of not falling. Of consistency, and laughter. Of a sister, of tears and loss, and my creators, my mother, my father.
On Being Raised, Amanda Wells, 2014
"Impossible," chest speaking in heartbeats and air. Little deaths punctuate mistakes made in earnest. I breathe, "impossible" to know; to no one.
Breathing, Amanda Wells, 2014
