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9 photographic prints in a grid on a wall with red text at the centre of each image


Jackets, cartridge paper, printer ink, push pins, wall
w: 180cm h: 160cm

I have to pay for this.
But I can’t
So I don’t
It’s not legitimate
So I’m not legitimate
Must mean I’m a bastard
Bastards are cunts
Aren’t they?

Maybe I can eek it out
For a little while
Pay the rent, so to speak
Hold my head up
High might be chancing it
But level, just maybe
What do you think
Can I do it?

How much faith do you have
To spare, a little
Or none at all
Who’d blame you
For that empty tank
Only bastards run on a full one
Only cunts

Excuse me my words
I must be going
This isn’t my place
Once was, maybe
But not for long
Now it’s as if it never was

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