Did you ever think that they'd realize that this is all one big dot dash dot dash? That they'd radio sweep for bugs and listen to the songs for clues? No one else does. Our messages are coded and recoded and sneak past you like armies in wooden horses with murder on their minds. Our messages are the wind rushing past you as you drive fast with the windows down on roads you don't know where you are. Our messages are snocones and hushpuppies and bingo daubers that explode and salty snack mixes that make you mouth dry. I got a million of them. I have no end of them. I will type my candy filled serenades and dreams and wishes and make the night air come alive with the promise of a town fair and the circus coming to town. I am the words and you are the picture. Someday, the gate will be open late at night. Or the machine will finally work. And I will have captured in black and white the energy and magic in glossy form and I will put it on my fridge, the only image on a black gallery, held by a magnet with googly eyes.

Photo - S
Words - S