Rough Beast

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

“The Second Coming” W.B. Yeats, 1919

There is the devil you know
and the devil you don’t.

There’s the shadow slinking
through the night, slithering

into the warmth of the compost pile.
There’s the sensation lurking

behind you, un-pin-down-able
no matter how fast you spin around.

There’s the face in the mirror
when you are shaving, contorted,

skin stretching over mandible
and mouthpart, maxilla and zygomatic.

Steel blade on carotid artery.
Black whisker, silver blade, red blood.

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Published by

Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner

One thought on “Rough Beast”

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