tridents poke at merciless sky

scaled and drip drop

hands of dark intention

trample soft skin innocence

into powder of yesterday

weird tools of impossibility

plant their purpose firmly

in the afterbirth of tomorrow

stand of birds hover

until night finally is night

serendipity he said to me

it’s a roll of the dice

a crossroad a need to choose

a needle in the great ocean

and emptied his glass