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God said bend over
I tried to grasp noxious nothing: the universe showing me a tree branch that looked like an arm
hugging the void of gray morning, rhapsodies of birds, feet on gravel, crunching while I unfold a
new music in me. A purpose. Fingers on keys, digesting melodies, songs born in my mother’s womb,
volumes turned up that I tuned out—no more.
God said bend over: I clawed through soil, made friends with worms, learned the meaning of mud,
stopped to clean my fingernails, sculpted with the mess, further further further, until I was on the
other side of the world, a myth only if you’ve never gotten past the earth’s molten core. Now I’m
flipped upside down, covered in dirt, and God says—I will heal your aching back.
(ROTATE PHONE FOR BEST READING EXPERIENCE)
I DON'T SEEK
(18x24, Mixed Media on Wood)
Zack Orsborn is a queer artist and writer in Memphis who makes multimedia art pieces and writes speculative fiction. Zack's work explores color, the inner child, psychology, intertwining narratives, and personal history.
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