In the red light of her darkroom,

Strips of film hang down in mourning

For all the borrowed time,

For all the chasing of problems,

For all the pyramids of skulls.

I know why youíre here.

You know the same about me.


I heard her once in a telephone interview.

Her voice was a mix of tunnel of love special effects

And Cinderella breaking in to the Hackerís Ball.

Not to capture reality,

But to generate notoriety,

To treat every day without triggering

The nostaligia of your own sexual value.


I brought you a going away present,

Never having made a passport for anybody

I didnít want to leave.

She connected the yellow and blue wires

And left the car running.

Her heart had more firepower

Than a suitcase machine gun.



Spoken word version from Homage.

Copyright © 2007 by Jim Cohn