31.5.12


To keep my heart from running,
I lock it in that high tower, behind that mute thicket, and swallow the hard, cold key
to keep us honest. I dig a ditch
and fill it so the morning fog can blind me,
but the water quickens
and still we all escape.






I enjoy writing metaphorically about my life because it allows for multiplicity of meaning. Making a true statement, as many have found, is mostly impossible. Does the same go for making a true photograph?



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