Despair now comes well prepared and fully embraces spontaneity. 

With promises of shattering all of your prospects, it turns all familiar embraces into third degree mutilating burns. 

While others remain in their handheld theatres thirsting for your next bereavement, you only have the still burning carcasses of your past griefs to camouflage your singed and torrefied gaze. 

The assured period for mourning never came.

The pledged period for convalescence was not borne for this existence.

An absolute and personal year has stolen even your void which has depraved you of meaning ever since your loss.

Without your obsessed principles and unremitting causes,

you fear that you will forever be exiled to be a stranger.


Note: this unedited photo (like most photos found in this gallery) was taken in a garden after exiting an air conditioned home into the full blast of summer’s humidity. Shooting through a fogged optical viewfinder, it was not until later that I saw what the fogged lens produced. The result, and recent events to our community and some individuals, inspired the words above.