The parallax intrudes sometimes
like a muscular pain after
being sat too long in one stance
and you can barely find comfort.
Browsing the internet you find
a cry for help you can’t tell from
pastiche. Then you see an empty
box sat on the doorstep, you see
moth larvae curling in your clothes.
Everything seems to be able
to connect with the following
link. But the pendulum has reached
its apogee and watch it turn
revealing its dark side to you
just as it accelerates down
the side inlaid with relief carve
of massacre and stupidness.
The frictionless pivot of time
and history is mute. But hear
faint squeaks of the ghost hung upon
the nail there, with all its effort
breaks itself to try warn you of
what is to come. But all there is
is a faint sense of deja-vu