Lying on the bed, eyes fixed on the hands of
the clock,
I am an outsider, shadow- boxing with my stalking demons.
Soon open war replaces the shadowboxing.
My demons cackle at their vile power of
shackling me
with impunity; they pounce at flat- footed me,
slicing me with mind- boggling bravado.
Woe is me!
But with the first stirring of dawn ,
they hastily
pack their ammunition in rucksacks,
slinging them over their shoulders , and are gone ,
leaving me, battered and bruised, licking my wounds;
while they hide in crannies , sharpening
their weapons,
the fire of vengeance raging still,
encaged in their breasts,
stoked by the December chill.
A visceral and thoroughly engaging work steeped in tropes that recall Hitchcock’s movies.