My Lost Navel

She tried to transform each personality trait into a character quirk; an ode to quiet perception and the calming craft of verse. But they read, always, as a list of banalities, drooping like an abandoned to-do list or a broken fingernail. The way she wrote them, at least. Vulgar almost in their lack of life and need for affirmation. Crafted perhaps through some other mind, they might have taken on intrigue or charm. Departing in fright from the empirical, taking her somewhere far beyond. 

Photograph: Lee Friedlander, 

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