SHAM PAIN SO SHALL IS
A dark bottle, a dollar, two glasses — one empty scribble, one two drops of red — under a smashed champagne toast that has already gone flat.
A bottle reduced to a teal silhouette, a real dollar pinned beside it, and glasses that cannot agree on what they hold — one a nest of green scribble, two others just a pair of red menisci. Over them the title is broken across the dark like a toast that has already been said wrong.
Sham pain so shall is.
Champagne taken apart until it is sham, pain, and a shall that does not arrive. Fill up the cup is written at the foot of the empty glass. The dollar is the only thing on the canvas that still knows its denomination.