A sense of uniformity blowing through the exhausted forest.
Be tall
be great
be in solitude,
to get that.
The moment when days get dissolved into windy nights,
obliviate the curfews of your minds…
It’s a brave thing to be addicted to something…
Alcohol, weeds, green whores, commotions, love,
anonymity.
No one among everyone, and singularity in the population…
You strive only in the presence of an indifferent creation…
Like this city, like this summer night, like this woman with sagging existence,
like this window of a defiant room.

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Photograph: Nancy Jean Walker.