If I could live

inside a series of photographs

I would be there in a flash.

They say

it’s all just glamour

and I believe from seeing

the frames being shot before me;

Stars in front of my eyes

turned supernovas before the lens.

So I know the truth,

and it is uninteresting to me.

Airbrush my life

until not even I can recognize it.

The goal:

to perceive ordinary

with the dreamlike quality of increased vibrance

deceptions of saturation

to deepen my appreciation

of the places my feet have walked before.

I have never been known

to beg this hard to be enveloped in delusion

But now, beauty has no meaning

except through a filter

which my myopia and photosensitivity

have never allowed.

Now, for all my experience,

each piece in the gallery of my life

must have a glossy finish.