I consume death to become myself

Consumed by death awake to life.

Eating through the fresh Red Delicious,

Is there an event as clear and spectacular

As meat rendered by one you certainly

Can't account for? His face was blurry

But I knew he was death. This forest is

A must, but it smells. Moles rotting at

The bottom of a sinkhole remind me

There's no sense in turning out to be

Someone else, unless I do, standing

On the roof of my mortgaged house,

Glancing a foot off the eaves as I would

A wave along the ocean. Shards of me

Become you somehow. Fuel for this luck

Spazzing out vaster, evermore ego in lust

Lands a face plant on the paved road

Between old haunts. I'm still the man

I used to be. I pay to watch a woman

Fuck herself in Romania and butcher

My name in English and ecstasy. It pays

To have my eyes burn out as I watch her

Diddle just for me. I've asked the vast

To skirt around the weather outside

By people who produce the weather.

The hotline explains to me this is why

We can't have nice things.

 

Words: Aaron Fagan

Photography: Josh Stewart