A poem by Megan.

Hand strums
telegraph poles
are chimera c[h]ords
vibrating
soft woodwork
of conjoined hearts
is said to be
dangling from
puppet strings
wound around
tattooed fingers
dancing blindly
to morse code
of wishes
painting dreams
in ersatz melodies
of desperation of
desire
snatches
joy away ere
go contentment
to thy doom
she chants
I missed
the target
is Fate
?