and our shadows crossed

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Sometimes, naked, I don’t feel naked. Sometimes I feel naked when clothed. What if all our incredible futures are still just bound for misery? A thing breaks, and we are on fire with rage. Was it supposed to enjoy eternity, like us? Before Trojans were mascots or condoms, they were warriors. Before non-sequiturs were digressions, they were songs. The universe is an echo chamber of discordant matter. Heaven is a fraudulent quorum of marooned demigods. I am detached from narrative, history, identity: whip out a dictionary and tell me what that means. On the days the stars conspire against me, I will conquer and overcome my ugliness. Today, I saw the sun rise into a bank of clouds. I want to be strong, and I want also to not have to be strong. I left the windows open. Is it raining now? The shadow is a mouth that baptizes. The shadow is a lover who won’t call. You die and die and die then live. I think of the small white moths orbiting the garden. Because they are beautiful, because they barely exist at all.

Wolfgang Tillmans Filled with Light, a, 2011

Joy Sullivan, "State of Emergency", Instructions for Traveling West

/end poem text.]

moon and rainbow at sunrise by mark ham

Irina Cumberland (b.1975) -  Sea Diamonds 22. 2018. Oil on canvas.

Secretary (2002) dir. Steven Shainberg

sweet sweet summertime

fredi_boldt