The Rough Draft


No filter

I'm erratic

Two cars

Too fast

careening down the mountainside

.racing to see who will hit rock bottom first.

You cannot dial down the saturation on destruction,

even in black and white it still burns.


No filter

I am blinding

Too bright of a sunrise

crawling out from behind the mountainside

while your eyes are focused on car crashes

the flames and the sky

glowing ever color at once

Reminding you that will wreckage too

will end

The definition of high contrast.

And by the time you remember to snap a picture

the scene's already faded.

From behind a camera lens

beginnings and endings

kinda look like the same thing.

Taken out of context,

you cannot tell if the tide is rising or falling.

Sitting within a picture frame

you cannot tell my victories

from my battle scars.


No filter

I'm recursive.

Living 1,000 stories 1,000 times

that I will never get to tell you

because a picture is only good for

1,000 words.

And I will not crop myself into 3x5 rectangles

just so I can sit pretty on your mantle.

No filter 

I'm expansive

and no picture ever taken

will fill your lungs like to bottom of the ocean

there's just too much of me

to ever comfortably fit inside someone else.


No filter

I am fluid

Every narrative longer than six seconds

chaning far too often

Commanding every inch

of such a tiny goddamn screen.

Within an iphone is the only time

you will everhave me under your thumb.

You can't make picture frames out of people.


No filter

I'm explosive

and looking at a screenshot

You'll never know

which car made it to the bottom first.

This poem is about: 


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