Pendulum dagger
dangling from a chain
strike shallow and several
four
five
six chimes
the clock no cross
or symbol
to ward
away
some evil or
thusly swung
some
sudden notion
this
unclasped and deadly
means offense
in cold and bloodless
silence
left
without a death
or hint of naught
else but this
poetic desperate
misery
to crawl and curl
within
and then
only the moon
in the gutter ticks
the seven
eight
the nine
editors note:
Beware, solitary dawdlers! When the count is “one, two . .”, better skedaddle before “three.” If you hear, “four” – the moon counts the end. – mh