The film was in the can
Long before it was shot
And it never mattered
Whether anyone would
Put it into a projector
What disturbs me
Is that most of the time
The frames have to be seen
— no. Experienced– sequentially.
Even though the denouement
And the prologue
Are both imprinted in the same cellophane ribbon
No one can get to the end
Before enduring the beginning.
And the middle.
Sometimes, of course, you glimpse a frame
That’s far away from the frame you should be watching.
Like spooky action at a distance
And no one, least of all you,
Believe you’ve seen what’s real.
Does that mean we have no choice?
I always feel I’m making legitimate decisions.
It’s just that their consequences are printed and stored
Even before I do anything.