Consider this. Follow
with your good eye

the knife moving relative
to the butcher’s mind,
particles skidding either side
of the blade, spilt like

blood, split like the brain
is split into marshy regions
without clear borders or
recognisable landmarks

lit dimly by the moon
which hangs like a mirror
in a small room,

to make it seem larger. Here
the sky, overwritten in wild
swirls of a foreign code
is collapsing.

>>>>>>>>>Synapse upon
synapse bursts underground,
old forgotten mines, relics
of imaginary wars fought

without purpose or prompt.
Its history forged, its trajectory
lost, the long knife falls forever

edgeless guillotine

moving over the waters
without parting them.


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