Iron in the blood

Snick.
Snick.
Steady stroke
of diamond stone
hones the edge
of the ivory bone
handled hunting knife
not too long a blade
to scream badass alpha male
but long enough to
reach between the ribs
if push comes to shove.

Snick.
Snick.
Droplets of life
tremble at the sound
of carbon steel
meditating on the task
of slicing and dicing
digging for the truth
separating layers
dissecting gristle
stripping muscle bare
shaving the lard from lardass
biting into bone
all for the sake
of proving a point
of sticking to the facts
of knowing that
between known and unknowing
is a razored spine
of disappointment
if only life was as simple
to separate
as death.

Snick.
Snick.
The neck hairs bristle
the eyelids try not to
confuse the view
of metal once molten
fused and beaten with fire
iron in the steel
calling out to
iron in the blood:
“Be free,
Become one with me”.

 

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