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