Friday, March 11, 2016 10:10 PM
Some days,
I wonder about the carving knife,
Sitting pretty in its wooden block,
And how it would feel
Against my flesh,
As it kisses my kidney and
Caresses my lungs
And traces the outline of my heart
As I sit and behold
The wonder that is creation,
Pouring forth in a fount
For dogs to lap at and
Go forth to rut.
