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.