Reckoning

You were right, my dear Chelsie.

To scrub the wounds with salt,
free them clean,

I must dig my quill

into their openings:

Reckoning

Follow the steady shadow of my hand.

Lead me to those subtle depths of darkness.

Fall into my palms.

Open. Closed.

–

Keep the motor running one moment more.

Not just yet.

Closed. Open.

Closed.

–

Swing, swing, swing,

goes the pendulum.

Ready, duck.

Spare your senses.

Spare your head.