Maybe today they’ll change the tapes!
It’s the same old stories – first there was steam,
steel, then depression, then developed bay –
stories so fixed I can never say
more than they let me. At night I dream
these galleries shift. We open screens,
show new exhibits. The best one’s my heart
in a glass case and it switches on
and off like a light bulb. This intimate room
is floodlit, is a work of art. Stop, start. Stop, start. Stop, start.