Content warning: Violent imagery
The obvious thing to say would be Butcher Me but
Actually I want to be the only thing left entire.
Mark out every other Wednesday for the rest of the year
To see your hard dyke hands blurring inside a ribcage.
Only some have the right knives for the right jobs—
I want to see them slice through this poor image of a morning.
Carve the slick chained abattoir off its mainland roots
Sail it clean by docks schismed from a paling sky.
Cleave the rest: our friends, colleagues, all our mothers
Cleave yourselves, cleave each other, thumbed open like flies.
That child you lift into the air too, I’m sorry
Feed me everything in its constituent parts.
And leave me wholest, leave me a humming blade—
A gleaming curve in a world of cuts.