Friday, April 11, 2014


June 20, 1982

Chrome and steel
Shine in the sun
Bright pages
Of the photo album’s
Tender spots

I stand
The heat passing
Through me
The camera is my eye

This is a picture
For some future
Day when we
As elders
Infused with memory

Lines squiggle
Baby on the lawn
Black & white
Always lines

The pattern
Of this existence
Is beyond all words
I paint it
With camera
Letting the baby
Make the strokes

The sun hotter
As I crawl inside
This black box
And press myself
Upon the film

Shaping the liens
Like a sculptor
Easting away
The darkness
With light and illusion

There is no baby now
No Portland
Just this image
Which imagines me

The shutter swished
Like a guillotine
Slicing away reality
Like a slice of bread

In elder years
The illusion is strange
We forget the journey
The nail scrapings
On the walls of this box
The way out

We wee
The lines
That linger
On the reprint

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