I would rather be naive in my own ignorance,
I would rather immigrate to a place of running clouds,
I would rather take the blue stuff
and I would rather let the voices intersects inside my mind.
The whale which swims through the softest parts of my body has stopped going deep into the sleep,
a madhouse,
a long field of absence,
a drag of boomerang sting,
the whale has stopped to move in my ecstacy.
The black pistol
and its brown trigger,
the frowned levers and
the bang of a splash…
I would rather end in memory,
I would rather fly in magnificent addiction,
I would rather fuck my own hands
and I would rather fight in my imitation and unknown belongings.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Kent DuFault.