Purple Thorn
2025
Mix Media (Medium varies depending on exhibition spaces) - Recent exhibition check here
Kinmen, Taiwan
Thorns at night,
puncturing skin.
The smell of blood,
is sea.
Armors ambushing under sand,
Eyes on their back, dark
and black,
telling every stupidity in me,
accusing every neon color.
Life of thousands, millions years,
Space of 3 by 3,
Do time and space equal?
Freedom means death,
Preservation means confinement.
The history of this island opened its mouth,
all I see in deep, is purple.
Swirling up, purple morning glories,
Coastlines, you occupied arbitrarily.
A shooting star
sliding out of my eyes,
half second.
Blue tears glow,
coming with waves,
half second.
But human memory lasts.
“My body remembered that color,”
she said to me.
Before I left,
I put some ambiguous questions
into the washing machine,
nothing comes out white.
An island of abandonment,
an island of new colors.