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let the camera pull back til the fullness of the screen is clear and plain peer into the screen until you see it all like a vision in a crystal ball
let it all fill with smoke is this somebody's idea of a joke? let the fixer work until the silver's washed away and take the picture from the tray
look hard at what you see and then remember you and me and let the truth spring free like a jack in the box like a hundred thousand cuckoo clocks
from the oregon corners to the iowa corn to the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get born
fall through the tunnel and follow, follow the light northwest see that young man who dwells inside his body like an uninvited guest
see the tunnel twist clutch your birthright in your fist let the camera do its dirty work down there in the dark sink low, rise high, and bring back some blurry pictures to remember all your darker moments by
permanent bruises on our knees
never forget what it felt like to live in rooms like these
from the california coastline
to the iowa corn
to the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get bornCode Text
