I am always saying that I started life as a small town scandal,
but I can’t say this out loud to everyone.
These words can kick.
They might step on those who are already down and laid low.

So I keep my tongue planted firmly in my cheek and
wait for some of the stars of the show to die.
Then one day, I can maybe say everything
instead of saying some things.
[Because I can’t just say (write) anything.]

In the meantime, I make images.
I make people. I make the world.
I put these people into my almost history and imagine terrible things
and I imagine holy things.
We play at stigmata,
I chase birth and blood and hands.
I take snapshots of my own hands reaching into the sufferings of Christ
or holding pink cigarettes.
I make portraits because I cannot make anything else,
and because my eyes cannot always see everything that is happening.