Reality’s Blade

365.26 scorpions, the sting of another revolution. Cobwebs h                 a                 n                 g          from aband    d dreams, as the young eagle flails, in an old pigeon’s talons.                                    b  o Outside, excuses skip a     u, taunting.                                       t A loquacious lot they are, full of themselves, and curdled scapegoat’s milk. Yet truth has gnawed off my index fingers. It is I alone, left to swallow the sword.