August 23, 2009 § 4 Comments




Copenhagen, Denmark – Awake in the small hours.

Awake at four
with the old brain beating
its fast tattoo –
I want, I want –
I think of love,
of the hot scramble
of limbs in darkness;

of the mind
pulsing its secrets
in metaphor;
of synapses firing
need, longing, love;
of the body
with its midnight hungers;

of the mind
caught between dream and waking;
wondering what it is,
self-creating always;

of God,
whatever she is
asking the questions;
Who are you anyway,
and how did you get here,
and what is the distance
between two stars,
between two brain cells,
between two lovers?

Here in the rosy
pink-ringed dark
all the birds
are sentient in their own way
as we –
on the verge
of wakefulness
and song.

~ Erica Jong


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§ 4 Responses to Sentient

  • Chris Oquist says:

    God your images are fantastic. I love them. From the bottle of Jager on the sink, ready to slip and chip the porcelain, to the girls’ expression, the camera imagined spinning as if in the winding down of a long night or early morning, moments that might otherwise be forgotten, and then that wonderful view – groggy, almost… laden with the weight of the hours prior, fading just out of lucidity as if through time.

    I try to make photographs like that and just end up with forgettable frames. Yours are beautiful.

  • The image second from the top left me with this haiku….

    She found that place, once
    Confidence, no pain, no fear
    When will she return?

    Love the blog. May I put you in my links?



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