The Butcher
In the slow darkness falling over everything
on the cold hardwood of the table with my bloodied knife,
I cut through the meat and sinew and bone.
The head, of course, shall be the first to go
according to anatomical order
but I could start at the midsection, the torso, anywhere, really.
To be systematic, the first thing to do is to exsanguinate her
and dress the flesh, however
disembowelment will take a while since I have to collect the viscera.
I must remember to feel nothing
Without anything; no remorse, no feeling as I cry silently:
oh, how wonderful! How cathartic! The sound of flesh tearing! It comes
with the spurts of crimson fluid on my hands and forearms
Mapping vermiculate patterns onto the table
I fall into paroxysms of delight and laughter when I am
carving onto her face a fierce smile of eternity
for all to see, for all to appreciate, with my serrated blade
Like a work of art taken years to complete
Like a work of art taken years to complete,
For all to see, for all to appreciate, with my serrated blade
carving onto her face a fierce smile of eternity.
I fall into paroxysms of laughter when I am
mapping vermiculate patterns onto the table
with the spurts of crimson fluid on my hands and forearms.
Oh, how wonderful! How cathartic! The sound of flesh tearing! It comes
without anything; no remorse, no feeling as I cry silently
I must remember to feel nothing
Disembowelment will take a while since I have to collect the viscera
and dress the flesh, however
to be systematic, the first thing to do is to exsanguinate her.
But I could start at the midsection, the torso, anywhere, really.
According to anatomical order,
the head, of course, shall be the first to go.
I cut through the meat and sinew and bone
on the cold, hard wood of the table with my bloodied knife
in the slow darkness falling over everything.
*
My first attempt at a pseudo-palindromic poem.