another cut this love
this real of ache
that shakes this silence dry
that breaks each day
one hundred pieces small
through early mornings doors
to know-it-all
no taller than the panoramic
view of clotted-cream
it will as life abort the final cut;
the final scene;
this grand parade to walk unseen
through hours tinted glass
of man\'s machine
the heavy noise of shoes;
the bitter egg;
where He once walked
now kicks and squawks
fat enough for Easter\'s garden walk
the pimp of flesh that follows
swallows whole the gift of Edens claw
another cut this love
a winters plough
the kiss of death;
the milk of cow;
my chariot of snakes
who loves you now?