Birth of Serpents

Let the camera pull back till the fullness of the frame is clear and plain

Peer into the screen until you see it all like a vision in a crystal ball

Let it all fill with smoke

Is this somebody's idea of a joke?

Let the fixer work until the silver's washed away

And take the picture from the tray

Look hard at what you see and then remember you and me

And let the truth spring free

Like a jack-in the box

Like a hundred-thousand cuckoo clocks

From the Oregon corners to the

Iowa cornTo the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get born

Crawl through the tunnel and follow, follow the light north west

See that young man who dwells inside his body like an uninvited guest

See the tunnel twist

Clutch your birth rite in your fist

Let the camera do its dirty work down there in the dark

Sink low, rise high, bring back some blurry pictures to remember all your darker moments by

Permanent bruises on our knees

Never forget what it felt like to live in rooms like these

From the California coastline to the

Iowa cornTo the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get born