Under the feathered incantation.

Waiting again,

For the bodies in the road,

For the dog to smash its head,

For you to choke on nothing.

Time and hope become crystalline.

It’s always the same.

Bifurcated into parallel planes,

Observing from impossible angles,

Forced to watch them dying,

With my hands,


 (c) Accidental Tentacles 2017

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