Even my mouth says let the body grow. Turn off the light and disappear. My yellow fingers put out a cigarette. Turn on a light and reappear. With my head down. Keep the head down. Even this blue sky watches my lung collapse. Breathe in the water and let me drown. My broken fingers – no more cigarettes. All of this life won’t reappear. With my head down. Keep the head down. Even my god says let this body grow. Turn off the lights and disappear. Yellow fingers swallow the wishing well.

These are my dying days. No love, no funeral parade. These are my dying days. Turn the spotlight off; it wasn’t mine anyway.


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I got asked why most of my favs are photographs. The answer is this: We, as humans, are per se and personally final and finality. Experience is human and humanity. Art is the exchange of experience. There you go.