FAL ESTUARY #4

Estuary today is like wet between woman’s thigh.

drown 151.jpg

Image created through the wet lumen process.

FAL ESTUARY #3

The estuary is like man who sits quiet behind doldrum desk - flat, smooth, ruffled by a change in wind but barely changing himself, existing but rarely intruding,

yet beneath is a salt-strewn murk, where a myriad of secrets fury away within, all feeding and fighting - fucking - where most can only drift on the surface, occasionally dropping hook in and hoping for the best,

few plunge their bodies but ne'er more than an hour or so before fear takes grip on their once warm hearts: ESCAPE,

the mind screams fraught with shattered fear, drowning in filthy green.

drown 114.jpg

Image created through the wet lumen process

FAL ESTUARY #2

At night the shipyard blazes with light of sunken stars, creamed sweet from a galaxy not too distant to the milk of ours - cold, gnashing steel, suffocating to the brim - no place to go go gone.

drown 321.jpg

Image created through the wet lumen process.

FAL ESTUARY #1

Snake a silver blue, frozen cobalt, eking out through muted green grass, the slugs slide over soft of back, shining their slick cloud trails    that descend back to the scales, each one shifting with the whisper of wind, fluid in motion, darted over by flies hissing their chorus, bracing the earth for flecks of left behind loss.

drown 103.jpg

Image created through the wet lumen process.

TREES #10

Smoke waltzing on the dance floor of a blue February dusk, the trees forced naked by winter's grasp as a wander of songbirds Chortle their way through the brush:

- avert my wanting gaze -

Touch destined to trouble no more tremble on those icy sheets

- emerald green - 

Feet unsteady mind unstable life unseated by loss

- alone - 

pinholes 4.jpg

Image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.

 

TREES #9

I tread wearily across the bare of grass; each blade soaked with droplets of early morning dew that shimmer celestial to the world above, folding to a damp collective with each footstep. The trees hang their sombre heads, shifting in a slight of soft wind that graze against bark furrowed like the cracked skin of an every day drunk eyeing indifferent to the earth through empty eyes. Slowly the sun begins to throw her locks through the din of a steely-blue dawn, skimming the ground before me to a golden-edged orchestra of existence.

pinholes 35.jpg

Image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.

TREES #8

Above the needlework strings thick as if a thatched roof, the forest floor dark and almost forgotten, thick with fallen needles it treads silent, broken only by straggling weeds or fierce thorn that burn angry in their shadowed existence.

Screen Shot 2018-04-06 at 22.08.55.png

Image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.

 

TREES #7

Dawn redwood - bark twisted and peeling to reveal red flesh beneath, as if whipped for some forgotten crime and left to bleed in the November sun, fed upon by flies and all other hungry for its tenderness. Along the boughs crowd the delicate needles, a pale shade like feathers of a sad Parade. Open wide the redwood welcomes its arms to the world but few come, narrowing to its head that straggles lonely above as if peering into its future fate, whatever it may be.

Screen Shot 2018-04-05 at 20.11.41.png

image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.

TREES #6

For like empty seed we are a husk, hollow on the dusty floor we are kicked into the cosmic nowhere, to disappear beyond galaxy and blooming death of star, to no new life just black, emptiness, like lightning without sound or sight, just a crack and whip of pain, pure and simple pain that lingers, gashing to a torturous cry, a lust that has lilted since Adam and EVE first picked that evil apple and let flow the worst across the ground, Pandora’s box times a thousand more, Pandora’s warehouse of all brutal manifestations of the human spirit. So free us trees, let us sink live amongst the density of wood and drink at the sap like mother’s milk.

Screen Shot 2018-04-04 at 19.25.54.png

Image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.

TREES #5

Ancient war horn blows proud to the sapling assembly, their shoots sprouting forth, even in the dim light of this white-washed greenhouse, the only rays from shattered shards of our spectrum turned solid, above all stands mirror mirror on the wall, telling truths a thousand times told.

The saplings shuffle uncomfortable in their rows, eager to grow full and burst seed through the
universe, the truth they hold igniting stars in galaxy far flung the beyond, to one day come together in a cluster shining an infinite bright, to eek in cracks dripping crude, to light the forest whole, a holler turned to mere whisper of wind, rushing swift around their bleeding stumps.

Screen Shot 2018-04-03 at 17.12.45.png

Image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.