Album what are all these photographs but memories and dust of leaves hard pressed between; and sanctum where the present hides— gauge the eyes beneath veneer. tear the mouths of quietus, and pull asunder all that mattered, all that ever was so craven here to lie forever in the folds of candid, poised and wretched present being. a match to drop a piss to take and bellows of the smoke say cheese. - Joseph M. Gant