tom gantzer

Untitled

The end of an epoch pivots among the cloning of an agenda of nothing.

Look at my sorrow.

The sun rises once more with a clear sky and clouded pose.

Look at my empathy.

See her walking in pressured snow footsteps.

They aren’t ours.

Vastness grows and vision contracts.

Why do I stay?

Race for your masochistic goals.

I won’t stop you. Can I stop you?