As all the pictures
                  speed past;
                  a monochrome classic,

like a flash ***** of stale
                 groups at stage,
                 a round of prospective lookers

as I keyhole in my car, outside
                 this story-telling,
                 all these holes in cloth.

I am aside all this business,
                 all this light snap,
                 the train now lost
                 in the purpose of direction.