Dreaming of Clara Bow

An undercranked heart
beats in ragged time;
a series of sharp cuts;
a child jerks into…

a silver fireball!
The “IT” girl glisters
in your neuronickelodeon;
the nitrate blisters
and the wurlitzer goes wild.

A flapper angel tumbles;
her cupid’s bow contorting
into a scream shaped silence,
“HID BY DEAFENING CAPTIONS!”.

But the cliff
- hanger continues
and she clings onto a gleam;
shatters screen with samite fist;
shinneys up projector beam
and, 23 Skidoo,
a red-haired newborn crawls,
through the narrows of sadness,
out into solidity.

All the sandmen, Model T men
and their rock-a-bye machine
can do nothing to stop her;
she’s got that jazz-icity.

In the nick o’ time, she saves you
with her spirit like a star,
when you listen to the Yellow
Hook legend of her scars.