We grow older and make monuments to defy time.
The things done to hide and change our appearance and the labels attached to a fleeting identity.
When the ones we love are gone and we leave unfamiliar metal likenesses for a possible passers-by searching for the resting place to their genetic origins, what is really there?
We don't want to be seen how we are. Even in death we want to be better. Striving for something to make a mark on the world before we leave.
I came across a baby bunny that had recently died. With the explosion of life right I was asking myself a lot about the meaning of life and death. Does the shortness of life decrease it's value? Even if the life is shorter than that of the rest of it's species, was it still able to accomplish it's purpose. Maybe in the moments of its death it was fulfilling someone else's life purpose. Within each line that is put onto paper, I hope that it captures the immediacy of right now. The duality of everything in life is what makes it so beautiful. The gross, the violent, the obtuse, is what makes available the possibility for beauty
