A slice of time, curling, peeling Back from the edge of the knife. Light fluttering as if between two trains Motordrive frames of life. Long blends of days stream into nights Consciousness barely coping. The land going by seems level But really the tracks are increasingly sloping. Images, images, images, images Arranged against a blank wall Images, images, images, images Telling the truth to us all. Pluck out a day, a week or an hour Hold it up, hold it up to the light. Freeze the frame, really look at the faces With all of your sight. See the eyes looking at you Immerse yourself into that minute. My teacher said time is elastic I wonder just what I’ll find in it. Images, images, images, images Arranged against a blank wall Images, images, images, images Telling the truth to us all. A slice of time, curling, peeling Back from the edge of the knife.