Fifty Frames a Second

Farewell to the order, cried in depth, A surface skimmed flat stone, For sure the past drinks slower breath, Cold-cocked and slow deflating; When the tyres kiss the steely rims And wrecks replete with rusted hubs Drop over distant hills. Only backfires and laughs remote, Crackled, reticent, teary mist Calls some faraway vagabond chord Resonance flecked with Autumn frost; For futures crook a tapered claw Towards the sun or flyblown lamp With essays in cement. Farewell to the friends, going to ground In some blue remembered bar room Or vaulted in a rift in time; Fifty frames a second played Circuitous peepshows in the mind, As silver nitrate lightening flashed Glimpsed meanings of a life...