they keep running out like roll film before me
pictures clicking away faster than i can see
never repeating old faces flashing by
who are you? perhaps seen once in a lullaby
projector is strangely static - the cartridge drops
still it’s going and it’s going and it never stops
nothing! nothing but it’s all over my fingertips
smudged on my forehead and dripping from my lips
i cannot perceive these silverscreens
tangible airs or figments of my dreams
going and going until it tears and rips
nothing! endless nothings all over my fingertips