Brackets
In the bracket,
walking a tightrope,
listen to cloud formations,
water droplets gathering
dust. Motions of morning
creep slow across the sky,
same-old scuttles in. Data
an eight-legged insect.
Things flit from pause
into an endless end-game.
An orderly queue lights up,
plays dumb. Déjà vu.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 21, 2021
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