Stacey Tran


Stacey Tran



End Solo

End Solo



we went 

we returned 

we’ve burst from the cloth, home, anything 

we have our own shelf, invented sky 

we moved into the blank image 

a continual thin plane of dirty water, plants, coins, unraveled, necessary 

deep in our doubt 

we move like blackberry birds 

covered in black branches 

deep in our doubt 

a place better than this 

we’re born complex, messy 

our fingers, their fingers 

our “more” shape 

our ________ sheer 

now the mountain 

now the mouth 

near the mountain 

near the mouth 

now the tongue, faces 

now we participate as gently as prepositions 

the tired people show us from the inside 

a place to speak about objects and degradation 

we live on top of stairs made of pollen and our bodies 

fastening to the plane in front of us called purple 

we have arrived openly from the inside, our body

taffeta halos, we were partly in another place 

unusual scumble, small relaxations 

solitude is chaos 

paradise, pie, navy, hinge, gesture, money, freckles 

blood, baskets, frost, freedom 

“fountains that want us to act like knowledge” (L.R.) 

how should we care for our mortality now? 

transitioning to night to be more precise 

every foliage turning away softer glimpses 

we would slowly absorb evening pigments, each blemish 

we’d lean into the flight of certain words 

we would observe strangers to study touch 

repeat touch 

repeat streets 

we began to imagine we were several, even many 

we moved into the anxious space “the heart” 

in a way it was just practice 

we met by chance under delicate rows 

we tethered our separate ways to a single strand of attention 

at that hour this was description of light sliding over the lake 

our method was patience 

we had deliberately chosen to become the struggle of parking lots and paint torn light posts 

the struggle to recognize a city 

what we witnessed was the end of the sunlight 

and we kept walking 

we were the documents 

we enjoyed the noble sensation of bursting 

what is earth? we answered 

we wished to produce a lexicon of inadequacy 

we knew intimately the manner of not speaking 

we would choose and lift the cloth to say 

“gold” “furnish” “sour” “heat” 

we knew memory was a series of hunger and wandering 

we’re painting a place to forget nothing 

we wanted only the presence 

we are real clouds or painted, the frequency of motion 

we carried weather and chance 

we repeatedly released ourselves 

we assigned strangeness to what we did not deserve 

we found examples of pleasure 

we crumbled in response 

we were held to wandering and I say the word "world" and you say "sorrow"

you say “humming” 

I say “waiting” 

you say _________ 

I think of the certainty of faces and our own recognition 

we attached ourselves to the tensing flesh 

we were not alone when we entered the ripe gray 

we receded into fringes of white monuments 

we sensed it internally 

surfaces lock 

we had chosen it 

we chose the lion 





Stacey Tran is a curator, editor, project-specific writer living and working in Portland, OR.