Sell your soul to the Devil at the crossroads Take up your pen and sign it. Poison’s my ink. At the place where three roads cross, at the stake, the wheel, jangling towardyou—what else could you think?—  harness, horses, cart. Tell me you feel the hate of the crowd. Bite of the rope to bind, iron of your chain. This … Continue reading ‘Sell your soul to the Devil at the crossroads’ by Jane Wiseman