Invocation Okay, this is it, shut everything out, the sounds, the heat, infernal visions. Relax the spot behind the eyes, calm the heartbeat, head, and fingers. If something’s flying, let it pass, unless it makes the wind chime tingle. Cut the light—especially the light. It’s vital that one’s cup be drained of any stale solutions it holds. Dab it dry with cotton rag, guard the lip from ash and dust. All this done it won’t be long. Quiet now, here comes the ghost, that thin, slow spiral playing bones. The pen perks up, the pages shudder, not letting on, but it shows. Can’t contain myself to keep from asking why it appears so empty-handed. Haven’t you forgotten something? You were supposed to fill this hole! Effing muse takes a leak in my ear, says it just stopped to use the head. Now, wait a minute. This won’t do. I’ve been waiting. Seems like years! You’d better give me what I prayed for or that lobe won’t be...