focus number five the addled man sits with his eyes wide as the photographer focuses his lost scraps of tangible thought he sews into a tapestry of foolish creations such charm may be found in the playground of amused twisted creatures but the grip the shadow he casts crawls across the sun strewn lawn like a creature of thirsts tangled in its spoken vision is the frame of the house of the mad this shadow he bleakly thrusts at me is rife with the rumours of tomorrow but make for a thin meal in the aftermath of today he sits with his glasses on smudged with stained greasy fingerprints like a visual history of his labours to seek this understanding with a brutal sunny day the scraps of his meager thoughts swirl round and round the stew of his mind the bitter things float the sorrows pool to one side in toxic lakes edged by the serene images of summer the shadow his eyes chase finally reaches the church wall and he bemoans a loud spectacle of a prayer to the divinity of the photographers gentle hand redeem me with your lens stitch a new meaning to this tattered life mere reflections of the world captured by her hand through the lens through the shadows he flings with careless abandon wherever his raggedy preamble of a life gathers him
Posted on: Sun, 09 Mar 2014 05:52:04 +0000
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