I want it back, my life how it used to be
Me with my camera, music, my pages before
I "gave up" and threw away originals, copies
one by one into the trash. I want them back
The camera that sold back then for scrap, for pennies
on the dollar, the movies, tapes, CDs gone the same
Amazing what you part with when you feel the
crunch for days all the way down into the pit
of your stomach, to the anger you feel frozen in
your bones when one of your own is threatened,
to the fear that collectively still betrays when
family points finger at family one by one by one
and delivers an almost curse of,
"Don't you go to sleep tonight"
I want it back, my life inbetween the crises
Want it back, so I go on safari, me stalking
the inanimate image, the intangible quality of
sound and atmosphere, unattainable quest of a
life that was truly my own and will be again
by whatever means necessary.