It was first recorded
on a Paris boulevard in the fall of 1838,
a man stopped for a shoeshine,
the horses moved faster than the speed
of silver on sunlight.
Here in America, manifest destiny
focused in on silent, grim poses.
Metaphysical stealer of souls—
all we have left of entire nations
is recorded on gelatin plates.
Obscure rooms, the heart of darkness,
the mercurial greening of plants—
art and science wrestle under bedcovers
with the names of war—
the battle of Gettysburg,
the Japanese woman bathing
her hibakusha daughter,
the running Vietnamese girl,
napalm on her arms—
these images burn into the cornea.
You prefer to do it in the dark,
then wait to see what develops.
But this is not a negative image—
every lining has its silver cloud.
date? Saved date is 1/92 was I in Holland?
it was ascii-ridden (the hearbreak of ascii)
so lines are approximate
Hard copy lines are similar except stanza 3, with 6 lines. I was forcing it into shape.
hard copy notes that this was for Duncan McGarrett, I must've rewritten it for Jan Bogaerts
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