Blade Upon Block


Like the local butcher
receiving deliveries of
chain-linked corpses,
all made-cold-for-aging,
swinging stridently along,
like our own masses of degradable tissue,
all moves helplessly forward toward
death’s ultimate recycling in perpetuity.

Just as the clock for shopping's rush hour
urges the butcher to cleaver his offerings,
so too the ticking of our own destiny
anticipates hood and scythe’s invitation

for one last supper.

For the now will arrive,
the ice-cold reality

of one’s slice of life becoming

but experience-wrapped fragments,
awaiting Nature's ultimate ingestion
to befit tomorrow's pending iteration.

Suspended patience
straddles blade upon block,
awaiting the vigilant separation,
wondering why we fear,

rather than embrace,

what is merely another delusional end.