Exorcisms are quieter now.
No more gouged floors,
holy water, lacerations.
But we keep our ritual ways:
Whiskey snifters/ night sweats/
subcutaneous inks/
facials/ pixel confessionals/
a sheaf of paper up in flames/
communion of drunk cum.
Today I blinked and found
a sudden-clouded sun and
a fat black fly on
frosted glass.
Later the streetlights
all turned off at our approach.
What do I need to kill, and how? Tell me. I’m sharpening my tongue.
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