A picture of you is a sketch at best
A portrait I guess
To capture your soul
Or to exhibit your beauty
Now who is this picture
Is it you?
No for you have changed moved on, grown old
The picture remains forever young
And in the eye of the beholder
Becomes whatever he or she believes you to be
But not the real you
Just the picture of you
That superficial brush stroke
The work of light play
Shadow and contrast
The movement of your flesh
Some ideas
That attach us to our own flesh
So what becomes of your picture?
It is consumed and absorbed by the viewer
It becomes a body given flesh
By the eating
The cannibalizing
We have become the cannibals now
Having gorged on instagram, we are walking albums
If not in our heads, in our eyes
In our nervous systems
Changed irrevocably by the humanity of flesh
Where is the democracy of flesh
No it is a thing without choice
Feasting on the ever present, omnipotent, inexhaustible
Stream
So turn it off,
In a flash you can dream
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