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An anxious starting pistol is fired... years ago.

Signs were out and a shot needed.

The rolling momentum is immediate and climbing.

Worlds whistle past, a flickering window blurring quicker.

Settle back; comfortable contentment on our freeway.

But too sudden the speeding world beside us is gone behind.

And our carriage has been stationary all along?


We have no time now, but means to act.

Sparks in the dark burn brighter, but crave a willing fan.

Made bold in our low-cost and separate bubbles.

We now strive the shared highway back to the town.

Paddle draggers aside, it’s time for sharp strokes.

So the world once more is gone behind.

But only so we streak ahead.

 Fraser Carson, May 2012

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