Dying Sunflowers & a small Prosecco.


Summer is spent/was spent working, walking, longing,
working; emails, tickets, shoots; so many rolls of film
and can’t develop shit but keep shooting, and yeah my
potato plant shot up from nothing, what a great use of
20 pence it was and so beautiful like all of my bulbs th-
at became Xanthosoma’s and Colocasia’s and all my ot-
her cuttings, but the season of growth is done/I’m done
repeating myself, why does everyone have to be long; if
you aren’t here to date, don’t waste my time, I just want
to feel something or to feel alive/love/fuck and how can
I save if I don’t make enough to cover everything else, I
keep trying to and I feel trapped in this all but hey man,
sometimes it is what it is, what it is, what it is and if I do
anything, I want to celebrate the good that happens bec-
ause it is soon/will soon be gone as it is, you know, and
we all have our time in the sun, but the sun is now gone.