The Brooklyn Rail

Before photography, people didn’t exist.
Blow it up, I’m in the doctored details

In this picture, and this one, I’m in
Each photo, in the cool blur, in the

Brown cloud, my tiny head redrawn,
My splayed limbs cropped. I hammed.

I’m telling you, I’ve slept many times
With near celebrities. True, I’m lying

Face down, here, in the mud, my pants
Stained with too much clarity. My bones

May dissolve in a toxic tub, but long
As this photo shall last, I won’t fade.