Sacrosanct

There was someone else in the photograph

I opened my eyes and mind to the Devil

Yesterday was two days ago

Now I wither in glorious solitude

Waiting for a fitful tomorrow

Books and knives

I cut the inscription from the binding

Tore at the mouth that breathed without bleeding

And set fire to the nightstand

Demonic possession

Is a national pastime

Like baseball, like wrist-cutting 

Celluloid front window mannequins

Dance to next year’s songs

And melt into perfect puddles

An esoteric drunk

An exorcist out of work

What will spill forth from this stained palette?

This planchette will spell it all it out

Eventually