BEFORE SUNRISE:
He’s out in the bitter wind with his camera, sending
me images from the edge of the city. Filming a journey
through backwater legends, local faces, stories that
don’t make the papers unless there’s a horror show.
Worlds curling backwards like whirlpools nurtured in
the cut of bridge piers. Satellites spun backwards
in spaces where city rhythm rubs against the pace of fields.
He sends me pictures – I write poetry in return.
(K)
Karl Hyde 
I was looking forward to that scuplture from yesterday. There’s never a shovel around when you’d need one is there?
love the foto – love your perception.