Geoffrey G. O'Brien

Logic of Confession

All photos are taken out of remorse
Are of where the senses go when closed
All photos are still lifes of the senses
Are at least of lost faith in the senses
I’ve therefore seen all possible photos
They aren’t like my experience
I see them as being all the same
All photos are the remorse of the senses
Subtracted from experience
I therefore see them as similar
And I prefer some to the others
Some still lifes to the other still lifes
I like those that are of perfect fruit
The blood on the ground, the yes
I love these fruit piled up in the photos
They aren’t as rough as my senses
Where grapes happen but oranges occur
Inequity and difference unavoidable
In the photos they all pile together
The fruit and the tanks and the smile
They pile together for the master they serve
The plum and the star and the wave
All photos serve as a yes to a master
A yes unable to be said
The master unseen in the photo
I still prefer not to see this master
Therefore I love photos, or “photographs”
Especially those in which there are fruit
The fruit that have been taken out
of the life of which I’m a mistress