When you let your fears grow old,

your fears will age you. 

Hold your pale, crossfire palms up

and pray to anything that has a backbone —

make it yours, strung through your thick skin

like bedazzled cross-stitch done with fish hook.

Use every piece of that thankful beast, 

that Cerberus of wanting. Know yourself 

too well to dig a shallow grave. 

When the reckoning comes —

it won’t matter whose —

you’ll check the door three times 

and run.

”Cyclical” is a poem that I wrote in 2019. It was published in Semicolon Lit, which you can read online.