Photorealism

The thick lens curves concave
It’s the dull blade that vents
Letting our your fears through slits that bleed light
It’s the murmur in the dark on the ceiling above
A chord struck for maximum effect

Its in the invisible clouds
It’s in your stringy saliva
It’s the living, breathing epitome of waste
A life misplaced
All things either corrupt or chaste
Nothing grey
Divisions render this world liveable
Put it in a box and walk away

Distance
Alienate
Brew the bitter drug
And Walk Away

But those vents grow to tears
That rip the fabric of our veils
And open up this space again
You hear that murmur in a new light
As the birth cry of a fresh spectrum
And all is blinding
For one second.
( Breathe In)
Bitterness ferments and exhales the sweet scent of life
Into the field of daydreams
Sunspots on my vision flick beauty across the lens
It cracks and we’re real
Exposed and walking in toward