[Seven of seven in B&W] Body comes out that way, out
of the body. We’ve no say in it. Hungry from the first, thirst for water,
always more water. Stand in the street, weave across a field, body a survivor
midst natural colours. What we could do without a body: nothing. Body goes that
way then this way. December is delirious a month, a drug, dreams come true.
Others take photographs to pass time, or the pain. It’s like watching shadow draw. It never ends, extending and
withdrawing given the light of day. What we could do without photographs:
anything.
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