CAMERA: SOUL SIPHON
Come in, come in, the shutter bites,
silver teeth in the dark flash white.
A slice of you is torn away,
frozen in salt, forever grey.
Come in, come in, the lens drinks deep,
loosh in packets, no time to keep.
Your laugh, your fear, your standing wave,
now pixels feed the cloud’s cold grave.
Come on, come on, the mic is thirsty,
voice pours out, returns all dirty.
One-way river, no mirror gleam,
they sip your spark, you lose the dream.
Come on, come on, the pen bleeds slow,
ink drinks the rhythm, the breath, the glow.
Each letter carved is a drop of soul,
the page grows fat while you grow cold.
Photos steal the light you gave,
spoken words ride off as slaves,
written lines leave hollow veins,
loosh for the cage, loosh for chains.
Yet at 3am the moon is kind,
zinc on tongue, the tide rewinds.
Pour it back, reclaim the spark,
burn the print, delete the mark.
Come out, come out, the gate is wide,
soul intact on the freedom side.
