I am no photographer, no recorder.
I'm caught between the desire to remember
And the duty to erase, not the other
Way round. I'm poised where time
Both dilates to infinite stillness
And accelerates into oblivion.
I'm a beautiful idea with real mass
That can never observe itself observing,
An observer that can only catch
The act of observation, never
Anything outside of the act itself.
"I really want a little hut
That you can sit up in, with blankies
And pillows underneath, where you can hide
And no one can see you, but how
Do I do that? How, Papa, how?"