Polyester shreds fall like silt,
the slow pedetic descent through currents
undulting with sighs and tentacles.
So gentle and inevitable
in the tranquil aftermath,
of such broken seams.
Reaching out to touch the flecks.
The feeling of history’s suffocating weft,
burst into countless threads.
A false enchantment,
a corrupted craft,
© Accidental Tentacles 2018