Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.

Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.

Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.

Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.

Cheap *****, digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:

Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.

Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.

Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.

Billboards, subways, phones and buses:

Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.

Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.

Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.

Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.

Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.

Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.

Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.


Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.

Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.

Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.

To me
you were the
one
but to you
I was only
a part of
them.

I knew her in youth's folly;
The fumbling hands,
The tumbling wills,
The limbs entwined kind of peace;
The dinner glances,
The unbridled dances,
Commando skirts,
Deep knee squats,
What one thinks
But will not say.

I've screamed into an empty barrel,
Ran barefoot where I shouldn't,
Slid rusty things under my nails,
Touched my eyes with sharp sticks,
Ground my teeth with electric power,
Scorched my skin beneath the shower,
Turned informer on closest friends;
Drank turpentine and kerosene,
Mercury and gasoline,
Tore my skin, rend my entrails,
And other parts clearly unseen.
Include, if you wish,
An immortal soul.
My spirit, ****** as well.
Call the prayer, sound a bell.
That was heaven,
Now is hell.

Trying to write after so long...
I can't make any good rhymes
Just cat, hat, mat, bat...
It's even harder to write relevant to the times,

I'll try some this and try some that
I might try too hard and fall flat-
On my face i mean,
Trying to write a poem that talks about me,

Evolve and develop my artistic ways
Trying not to get caught in the drug inspired haze,
I actually think i'm a little sub-par,
And that nothing i do will ever take me far,

But here's this poem,
Or rather my story,
About a guy that wasn't that great,
But yet still aims for glory.

Part of me doesn’t want to write anymore (or is it anything?).
Am I just afraid to drag my emotions across this page?
My words tend to come back black and blue,
misunderstood from the most ridiculous points of view.

Should I end communications?
Though the shadows in my closet offer no verbal retaliations.
For better or worse, at least my ego’s not hurt
from a mad world’s projections.

But I don’t want to be the lonely one
hiding along the edge of the room,
surely looking broken to some,
while others wait for me to come undone.

Give me a minute and I’ll return to center ring.
Maybe it’s just the thought of a crowd that I find overwhelming.

I have been away
for a while.
Too long, I think.
I was not lost.
No,
never lost.
Maybe
just wandering.
But I was always coming back.
Coming back to me.

And you will see me
and you will wonder
who she is,
this woman
with earthquakes in her bones
and stardust falling from her fingertips
like rain upon the desert.
And I will tell you.
I am me.
Without you.
As I was always
going to be.
The wanderer
has come home.

coffee.
we meet at starbucks and i can almost pretend nothing changed until i feel the distance in your voice.
i am calm and quiet. i did not expect this
yet here i am sitting in front of you as you explain how you feel (a rarity).
and you and i are alike in more ways than i realized before.

cantalope.
flying through the young night air
i feel alive and free and happy again.
i meet theresa j hanson. dancer, 19, long thin hair and long thin body.
she says she's heard a lot about me and i am surprised and i like her very much (or my first impression anyways) even though you told me that one time that you had *** with her and other girls would probably instinctively hate her. but i can't. she's just so nice and anyways that *** had nothing to do with me.
she gives us cantalope and me ice water.

cigar smoke.
we go out on the little apartament porch and you smoke the cheap cigar, the kind your grandfather smokes. get a red solo cup for the ashes and i found an old ***** butter knife out here. and we sit. and unexpectedly you say can we start over. and im shocked(you've suprisde me so much tonight) but so grateful and of course we can. you blow smoke rings and when you say whooo are youuu i cannot help but think of alice in wonderland and you are the smoking catepillar who asks life's hard questions and am i alice or the queen or the mad hatter or lewis carroll

coming back.
we reinact a a scene as if we just met and i kiss you as if it's the first time and that is how you will remember me and my lips are cold and your mouth is full of smoke and the kiss is fire and ice it's a wonder we did not steam. something so you'll remember me{i will never forget} and i guess we'll figure out on the way.

Take me in your arms
and we'll dance the night away
Your promise that you mean no harm
Left and right, we sway

Your hands on my waist
Mine on your shoulders
You dressed in your very best
and me dressed in furs

My heart lifts rhythmically
as we grand jeté across the room
My head whips in circles
as we pirouette around the room

But when you lift me up in the air
and pins drop from my hair
The fiery look in your eyes
combined with all your lies

Sends curls of flames rushing through my stomach
burning all the self-restraint I had
As I begged with my movements
for you to *dance me to hell