Exorcism

It took no priest to do it.

One Sunday morning, it came slowly
from where the castle stands in the West,
first bringing joy

I was happily singing at the table
not knowing

but then it started to work its way:
first the blood drew from my hands, and then my face
I could feel every nerve and fibre
sighing
as it
oozed out
with one, final convulsion

Now a slight drowsiness remains,
letting dementia,
a baptism of forgetting
to
settle in.