I use a carving knife
The blade cuts deep
The blood weeps
Open wound festers
Black blood - Blue blood - Black
Those kitchen implements
Sure know their stuff
In sage and onion
Shove it deep inside
Isn’t that tasty!
Pastry rolled flat and battered
Stir it about
It moves! It’s alive!
A little flicker
A little pulse
It starts to throb
It falls on the floor
Crawls away
Limps away
I get down on my hands and knees
My hands are sticky
Caught red handed yet again!
Mudcrow
December 2 1998
