Eternity has a touch that can be felt with every murmuring, every harbor less afternoon…
The river goes and
a dog
a man
a woman with palpable bellybutton
a harmonica
a vendor
a music of folk madness
all stops and goes with it.
You don’t need anything else,
just these riverbanks and the interests of proximity
and the assurance of your next meal…
Everything else is an artificial farce.
They say being a bastard among crowd and being a romantic asshole in isolation is the result of domestic life’s melancholia…
Well wind pass through eyes and I get vibes with the mass of water.
The piss
the darkness
the weed
a tree of hanging hallucination
There’s a truest self roaming somewhere in this gasoline infested portal
I am in search for one,
in the lost boats of smudged mountains.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Sally Mann.