Mathias Svalina

The residents of Aquarium have concerns where corners could be & they think Is this aquatic plant real or plastic? And what about this one? They broadcast noises at such volumes they can never not understand where they are supposed to believe they are & there are many chances to purchase photographs. There is no no-choice in Aquarium & color makes everything a little thing. There is only one way in & out—it is like a labyrinth, but you might be a shark or a tiger or a rattlesnake & there is always something horrifying near a vent & something else horrifying with forward eyes. In Aquarium I don’t think about dead loved ones I could have loved better. I don’t think about my choices physicalized as a wall eleven-thousand feet long. My floating body pushes the water & the water pushes me & I bump into other mes in the circular tank & I don’t even have to say Excuse me or How you doing? I have a smile, though, & a face & some skin, & though I understand winter & cold & fear & pain & know how each good can gut its own seams, here, human-creature, here, animatronic-orangutan-mother-holding-an-animatronic-orangutan-baby, residents of Aquarium, we share Aquarium, we share this sun & water—share this sun with me.