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Legend is a mixed-reality wearable art collection, five looks that contain an augmented reality trigger. When scanned, each reveals a portion of a poem. In swirls of image and memory from hundreds of hours driving up and down Indiana highways, this text reveals a story about a search for solid ground, joy and trans community.

Special thanks to guest designers Favilinda, Gnivol Loving, and Frank Peralta and editors Sara Carminati and Su Nadeau.

Modeled by Hedilio, Gigi, Frank, Celeste, Riley and Jojo.


Music by FETTER.

Lighting and photos by ColectivoMultipolar. Other images as marked.

Made possible by the 2022 DCASE Individual Artist Program Grant and Chicago Artists Coalition ENVISION Grant.


Look  1

This is wealth, pancake in a pizza box

You sneak me a free big coffee

out the smoker's basement door

Your boss won't come since

some cook sprayed his name there

Huge, and a threat:


Water from the hose sucked straight in a cloud

I'm falling off the porch and your dog's drunk

Another cornfield princess

interviewing in a Space Ghost crop tee

A gift of four cinderblocks

on the sidewalk between us

The first time I drove thru

the windfarm on 65

some boy in the front seat

his soul hanging out his mouth

I got crying cause

it's lazy to say but

a turbine is the angel we got


Look  2

Four hours to Fort Wayne

dilated on Xbox and the pure

and only

green rising off the fields

Ass-half on the curb between the

road shower and Arby's where

no body ever walks so

the grass is gorgeous clean,

rattled with centipedes

so hot I can smell them

Spun out,

Honda carving dawn hills

to let the geese out

Get my boots pecked to shit

by some rooster,

name of Bret Michaels

Can't say what nature put here,

whole trees wrapped in webs like

sticky, writhing legs of lamb

White, and stinking of short wet fur

Worms born here drop wetly

each slap of a BB

loosed off the porch slab

which we hard won from the landlord

at our party, Halloween,

when some girl broke her leg heading out

and our queen—

Broken Leg, now, still crawling in pain on the grass

—throws open the door and screams






Look  3

Application denied,

no dykes

I mean dogs

No apron

Crumb coat crushed

dough-headed panic

to miss a 56 dollar work day

woke up above the rug

on my dad's empty air mattress

piping swirls in the papery dark

1200 cupcakes later

I'm out. Straight

to the apartment we broke up in

and everyone's raging in it

The sun's burned out,

Chicago and back in one night

and never going home,


to your donut-delivery shift

before the predawn men

who come

before work

You sleep the drive

In my unclosing eyes

angels spin their arms in the dark

Local legend Look 4 shot by brittany sowacke.JPG

Photo: Brittany Sowacke


Look  5

Dandelion juiced in my fist

Queen anne’s lace, white and purple clover,

oil smoke when the hood pops and

you see what I killed

I quit the cupcake job

and the next

and the next

Coal-burned carpet

Mad dog punch

Trucker speed

Two gummy bears kissing

You cry for some

woman at your factory

who’s never missed a day

One heron lingers

to tempt the hunter

and the flock escapes.

Application denied, “no

demonstrable income in the city”

No oil change this year

No haircut, no brush

The unspeakable,

to not work— even one night, or one day

I kiss my last honeysuckle, and last wild onion

Dry year, corn so thin it makes a blue space

and I can see the way through


Look  4

Feet in the pool of last summer’s apartment

Forkful off a A-Phi’s plate

A dream where my bones and guts

are crammed in a skin

shape of the letter P

and I hop around 

looking for a cure

We burn your scalp with Tide,

then bleach, then clay

to fool the steel mill drug test,

get you out

No luck,

no luck

The pig-watching dog kills the pigs

Breakfast, lunch and dinner cake 

cause it’s free,

boxes and boxes

You chuck the ice in your cup

at a car,

heckle DYKE from the backseat at

some bros japing home

I laugh cause

I’m in the car with you

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