Everything is Broken

Broken lines, broken strings, broken threads, broken springs, broken idols, broken heads.

People sleeping in broken bed.

Ain’t no use in jiving.  Ain’t no use in joking.  Everything is broken.

Broken bottles, broken plates, broken switches, broken gates, broken dishes, broken parts.

Streets are filled with broken hearts.

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Imprisoned Japanese American Workers/D. Lange

Broken words never meant to be spoken.  Everything is broken.

Seems like every time you stop and turn around…Something else just hit the ground.

Broken cutters, broken saws, broken buckles, broken laws, broken bodies, broken bones.  Broken voices on broken phones.

Take a deep breath, feel like you’re choking…

Everything is broken!

Dylan

 

 

Just a Band-Aid

Only a Band-Aid away from What, I do…

from What I say!

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Miller Creation/D. Lange

Running with the Jones’s…living in the fray.

A stranger to me, she seemed to have moved a full house…

in the middle of a full moon night…

with only distant light to display her plight.

Way out on a savagely grown heritage trail…

My suspicious mind nothing but a broken arrow.

I am a display all my own.

Self-centered and sharp…meant to implode and impale.

Que me veux tu - What you want me 1928 Claude Cahun (French, 1894–1954) France Photographer
Claude Cahun:

Four wheels filled to the brim.

Greetings were exchanged.

Both of us portrayed discomfort, as though it were…a late summer’s whim.

My stranger packed all nuances away…

As if it were just another day.

My despair traveled with me, another quarter of mile.

In the end,

turning all attention to me…

I had lost my stranger some how.

hints and accidents 2

Out of Focus

While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see.

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One should really use the camera as though tomorrow you’d be stricken blind!

Dorothea Lange

 

Crumbling at the Edges

I live among a den of thieves

And, they all believe to be…me.

No saint.  No sinner.

Nor, recluse or debutante.

Just an image of more and more wants.

Life, for people, begins to crumble on the edges; they don’t realize it.

Dorothea Lange