Tag Archives: photography

First and Last Steps

It was an option, one that promised an ending— The steps seemed endless. #63 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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Star

There was never going to be any show, she knew that. Yet she fed on the light to counteract an unappeasable hunger, to star where the emptiness reamed darkest. #62 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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Oxygen

Out here, things were different. The rough patches felt, if not smoother, then at least manageable. This was also a place where she could check her dreams at the door, and not pay them the kind of mind that always … Continue reading

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Arson

All it would take is a single match, and everything inside her that had dried into tinder. Funny, that it would be the house and not her engulfed in flames, but the heat would blister and violently press needles into … Continue reading

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Perspective

The hidden symmetryin goingis that its patternsdon’t reveal themselvesuntil hindsightfans outand clarifiesthe marvels of lettingand perspective. #59 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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Not-It-Girl

Did you want a bitch, or a super-heroine? Or perhaps just a mop and bucket for sticky linoleum, for hangovers that crawl into high-rise offices? Whatever it is you want or need, forget me, I’m not the “it” tagged in … Continue reading

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Storytime

There had been rumors, hints, warnings, about the nature of certain fairy tales that fucked you in the end— The trees bent to listen, or rather to feel the story of her grief soaking into the earth and slaking the … Continue reading

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The Fissure King

It was only now, after the split had occurred, that his exact words returned to the surface— I am in love with the aesthetics of your sorrow— and this makes you wonder how much of you he saw, how much … Continue reading

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Shadow Play

Some shadows become women when no one is looking. Consider it the residual alchemy of fallout and mortal longing. #55 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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In the Still of the Night

Bare white knuckles grazed her nightbitten lobe as she turned up her collar to the cold and was seized with a grave sense of how lonely she had been and how much further she had to go to grieve the … Continue reading

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