Identity

“This could be my anywhere”

crossed legs

sitting sinking into seat

I as language

I as photo

can’t make noise at myself

I am the double

layered

skinned

the one and my many

The poet’s photos are

detail

texture

they like to wake you up in the middle of the night. Make you walk outside without shoes on, to look at the moon. These photos are the individual, the voice under the fingernail.

The body’s photo’s are

curvy

broad

They will leave you breakfast by your bed. They are a connection. A train. They are the landscapes of the world. These photos are the faceless crowd, where everyone is in focus.

The “I’s” photos are

left blank

over exposed

(these photos like to slip under your radar, waiting to get deleted for once found we cannot help but expose and find what is under the light. These photos live under our bed, and tickle our feet in the middle of the night.)

(I)

I want words to drip like paint

I want to play with language and light

I want color to redefine the scape of every

blank space.

I want my photos to show how I see the world.

What I notice

what I don’t notice

I want my photography to be the 1000 words we cannot say

the words we don't know how to say.

the words we do not know how to spell.

I as photo

I as light

I as everything over exposed. 

 arms unfolded 

standing I

breath

deeply