Recurrance

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,

Tied.

 (c) Accidental Tentacles 2017