Six splashes (some say eight)
alternating,
side to side.
The vessel passes
from hand
to hand:
right, left, right.
This banishes the beasts of night.
Lowers the lid on the roiling pot,
slides the drawer of destruction and disarray into its proper
slot.
How does it happen
that the drawer rolls open again by day
and your fingers find,
without fumbling,
the exact implement,
now placed and primed
for quick retrieval and
surgical intervention?
By what alchemy does the raw venison
of vengeance transmute into a subtle and
savory stew?
Like a whiteboard wiped, leaving tantalizing traces of text around the edges:
The wild, chaotic scribbling did not simply disappear.
All has been recorded, ordered, processed. Blended
and brewed.
The precision product will not overwhelm the palate.
It will strike its target, without too much
collateral damage.
Is this the best that you can do?
You glimpse its outlines, as you pass mirrors and display windows,
your hypnagogic doppelganger,
you feel its weight on your chest,
breathing the breath of your paralyzed lungs:
You have met the beast, and it is you.
Right, left, right. Method is the order
of the day,
Night’s madness strives to co-opt it.
You can pray now, pray to do better.
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