Beginner's Mind

Photography
Writing
Music

Never did a plane hit the side of New York’s golden child. Dreading truth: knowing. As I know your pain is done by nothing more Than heavens tragedy. A flapping in memory of burnt lights of dc over and over again and I am burned out. Flickering all nights, as we wait to hear something more enriching. We tighten to everything that surrounds us and her buns, her freckled face, funny taste, her all powerful way of making us feel in gulped by oceans of gasoline couldn’t be further.
Another… another… fucking fuck… another day goes as I waste times hearing how shit spills through gutters of a torturous home and 5 o’clock shadow can be a false prophet, yet again reaping the benefits of the manipulative sad mind to suck confused lady into his arms and will only choke her.

When she chokes I choke.
I gasp for air during that slight moment of near sleep thinking of her.

Dried up by Florida and her eyes crossing between mountains and ocean view. Of all the metaphors being erased for a few months and hearing the disappointed man, threatening her entire purpose of childhood. The reasons why I fell on top of her.

Recollecting the fall of Baltimore. In parking lots, with a dead man celebration closing and my life reopening to a second of being okay.

It’ll be okay.

She will be away for longer days, without sight of the rubs of toes and licks of teeth is nightmares to await. To only balance hope, luck, and bitterness. May we survive this. May we patiently continue to love afar. To treasure the embodiment of accidents and be lovers once again.
I fear so.

Dayla lalalalalalalalala

Dayla beauty in tiredness.

A soulless amount of treasure in all is all my mind keeps sacred.

Walks and talks, falls in day and day, I keep.

Her dress peaking her skin.

Red and dry, rough on my lips and Jesus can I finally be.

Dayla beauty in restlessness.

The amount that holds the Earth in place.

I will carry you in a pin, with decisive heartache and shelter.

Red teeth, red cheeks, as we groove to the moves our grandparents fell for.

Dayla beauty in your mouth and eyes and teeth and breast.

In somber days in bed with ladies.

In timeless acts of courage I can slave the remarkable seconds of surrender. 

Taring each other, losing all hope in south and in east.

For no other direction could be recognized 

just up and your body.

Dayla beauty in nothing. 

As I wish upon the lines I speak.

I can be the contentment for another 3.

The trinity of fables between you and I,

I shall keep.

I got to see a prerelease showing of a documentary on Vivian Mairer tonight. Some of the most inspiring things I’ve seen in a long time.