A Photographical Series and a Poem by Luke Nelson

Hotwax is the stream of faces outside a train window.

Hotwax is the way in which they melt into one another.

Hotwax is the knowledge that they are all moments in time,

Entire lives just like yours,

And just as minuscule all the same.

Hotwax are those black pupils,

Staring at you for one suspended second frozen in place,

That you will never see again.

Hotwax is that sullen figure on the corner,

Graced with blur and distortion.

Hotwax is the angry cowboy,

Faded in the dust of a world that outpaces him.

Hotwax is the endless drip of time,

That we are all trying to outrun,

But can never escape.

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