markbousfield

I talk of love and death,
the death of love
and the love of death,

This persistent pool of ephemera holds me tight in an embrace
of cooling pleasures and sickly passion.

[Here is a picture I found of my dad when he was young, he's 60 this weekend]



I lean on my spade,
I have dug,
It is a hole,
it is mine.

[Here is a video I made in a day last year]