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