Photography 
Filmmaking
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transitions


white noise of the city
turned into sweet melodies

of internal turmoil
and             
                 memories

a fourth-floor walk-up,
moon melting into the trees

drunk on lust                
and
momentarily lost

white ashes
and
a neon cross

yesterday,
the weeks went by
faster than the days

 






Life Cycles

the moon,
the smell of melting cement tales of others
the taste of blood on my gums

entangled hair, heavy breathing

a bus ride
we both hide behind walls impenetrable

lie,
no one is immune to feeling
a shirt drops
Now the sheet smells like cement

A lion’s fur, wilderness

I sit on the bed

touching places fingers have traveled in the past

unfortunately not in the present but perhaps in the future

one lion bites,
and everything I thought I knew

Sinks
down a deep deep deep hole

the moon
again, the moon.

no dancing in Paris


The body soaks it in
it remembers.

the reason
clueless,
ignores

Emotions inform
        reactions
again,
the body

the mind is asleep
        quick
try and think
about everything,
       with intent

feeling stuck
        in between
the city walls               
                                        where to next?

it's only the beginning
we exist everywhere  

a gentle embrace  
and the heart tightens
the body loosens

our shadows
finally
        dance free