Canto XXX

On viewing Bronson’s frown lines in HD
as Morricone’s trumpets frame his glare,
the closure of revenge and destiny.

I think of how the master wrote his score
before a single frame of film was shot
and once again my mind returns to form—

the old music that the rhyme scheme imparts
the soundtrack for our urbane platitudes,
for smart phone thumbs to tap out Po-Mo thoughts.

This constant metric metronome was used
throughout the many centuries by those
that kept the five stress engine running through

the countless wars, the ever aloof muse,
the change of landscape, til the carbon clock
runs out, and longer still, why not? Who knows

if this rock of ages knows the age of rocks?

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