Still there, She’s Unchanged, moved forward in the next frame. Skipped. The previous Moment pulls So. It must be I The one stuck in the last frame.I, so quick to leave behind the future’s Friction, Shake it from my Hair like
Cobwebs. Watch the last frame, Run through the halls to the Back of the train, Press my face, to Catch a past, Sure she’ll not escape this Time. Like She does. (She knows what I’m like.) But, I get used to this Frame jumper, this Past stealer, though I still keep a close Watch to see if maybe some day I can Catch her. (See how she Does it.)
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The featured image is a photo of graffiti on a brick wall down an alley in town. I call it the splatter of the 7 foot moth. This writing is not in meter but it is not prose. It’s about disorientation in time.
Exhibition 1874 