Epigraph

 

 

 

 

One

by one

pace perfect minutes round a left-handed clock

two by two

pass before me sinners in a slovenly flock

when all are dead but one

I spin my head

and count shepherds instead of sheep

I fall into prevaricated sleep

and for a second or two or just a blink of an eye dream interpolated dreams within one dreamless slumber

three of four or twenty, I can’t determine their number

while a terrified wind escapes from the north I’m suddenly shaken awake by the likeness of three shadows and the scent of a fourth

a single bullet is emphatically unselective

but as the barrel lets loose a whistle of invective I’m named hero turned traitor in the book of mankind, the score is announced in the very first part

else how would vanity vindicate this sudden change of heart?

Gospel spins a different key when that left hand hits twelve again

just as a virgin hope was betrothed to me the night all clocks struck three past ten

 

So the dust specks now settling on my vapid chest will soon

run

into dry raindrops

caked blood will boil

beware the stake that you rammed through the omniscient eye of your Cyclops

 

for a year or perhaps a million you will worship silhouettes of iniquity by night

practice blind faith by day

until the one memory of your last sin

of your benevolence

or your industry

of idleness

is all but gently washed away