Photography and Poetry


A camera picture has many dimensions
To tell on two, it is the foremost

Alibi that we exist and we are not
Ghosts walking on bipedal feet

We are light harvested on gloss or mat
An inimitability as unique as every dawn

And yet pictures are not storybook
They are flawed in the middle where

Subject sits on a different plain, a focus
Of a lens that articulates the person.

And in this light phenomenon, we are
Are making poetic incisions of raw beauty

And yet bad light, hazy backdrops, subject
Too heavy in color, or simply

A bad snap can be the root. And now I need to use
My flash and a stabilized palm

To take one snapshot of beauty
In a blood bath of ink.

Poetry will always be a graphic
Of an untamed third eye

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