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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.

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