The crystal to the North
In front of me
A glass of Moscato to the West
On my left side
A vanilla scented candle to the South
Behind me
A paring knife to the East
On my right side
My familiar, Milo
A Russian Blue
Sits disinterested
Supervising my ritual
He stares at me
Like cats do
Making me question
All my life choices
With the paring knife
I cut an imaginary door
To leave my circle
And refill my wine glass
From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.
James Pack 