The mind, Imhotep, it has a mind of its own.
When I say your incantation, a dark spirit visits me.
It has a human heart with all its chambers and valves.
A famished, skin and bones heart.
It would be mere gristle in your teeth.
The spirit says only that
The metronome stops before the world can see it;
This and nothing more.
Which of your siblings curses me?
I see their white skeletons in the sand.
M.G. Hofmann is a Milwaukee area-based writer. Her work has been featured in Dying Dahlia Review, and Eastern Iowa Review: Ten Debut Authors Edition. When she is not writing, she can be found outdoors or anywhere else one admires beauty. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org