Step in, slowly
The cloudy tungsten night
Still lingering
Heading home
You tell the machine
And it lurches upward.
But through the vignettes
In the crack in the door
I hear echoes from different times
Jump back
and forth
in the
elevator
shaft.
Little laughs from
Me, as a child.
With dreams out in orbit,
A self-portrait
With a camera around my
Neck.
The doors slide open
And it's the
Dim
Yellow light
Of the unfortunate
Present.
The camera slides off
My bed
As I crawl in.
Monday, April 14, 2008
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