she's a mystic queen without a throne

as she floats past me

 she's a mystic queen 

without a crown

in the moment

I was tracking a boy from the window. It was drizzling rain but he still took the cliff path. 

Before I had finished moaning in my head about the greyness of the day I saw the small face of his dog in the grass. 

The happiest smiling dog who was in the moment, in the pleasure of that day, more than any of us.

lady!

lady!

you have made

a perfect

head shaped you 

for my picture.

not in a cafe in paris

nor a burlesque bar in berlin,

in a field in faithlegg

bathed in blush.

the boy

london june 2013

the director

in his head

settings and pixels

in his hands
the framing of silence

in his heart

a constellation

in this moment
sparks fly

with thanks to Evin O'Neill writer/director and the crew of A Dry Christmas

immaculate

bring her only 

immaculate vanilla flowers

she will contain them

walk around the room

and absorb their white scent 

into her pure heart

watching waiting

they are waiting, watching

and I am watching, waiting

bliss

in a state of bliss
two half shut eyes
to my one

self portrait 1979

new camera

new york hair

masked 

on a winter's evening

punk 

in a dublin flat

one for the record

two for the road