—after “Face of Mental Illness,” Photography Year, 1977

Possession is cleaving is desire

is sinking its fangs into rotting flesh

wading in a river of psycho sodomy.

These photos could be scenes from a blues:

woman lying beside a glossy print of Esteban,

legs spread like wings—imaginary love;

woman curls against sopping

wet tiles bent on tracking drip drops

to their final resting place.

Through a glassless window in the door

light hovers above her breasts—crop circles. 

She shutters as the flashbulb pops,

asks if my lens ever captures lost wishes,

asks if I am the kind of drunk who wets

the bed and leaves my lover soaked.

I just want to take your picture, I whisper.