unpacking

there’s the one
where i wasn’t sure
of what i was holding
the picture
or her
or the picture
in her
or the thought
of more pictures

(if god made photobooths
then the devil made power)

and i don’t have the time
to cut every cord
i don’t have the time
to break every bulb
to tear every curtain
to obscure every lens
to jam every change slot
to burn down every bar
to save every soul
from making prisons
out of memories

or

from freeing
all the love
chained to the dark corners
of musty
standing cameras