Millions sleep tonight for the last time
Hunger eats the stomach of the soul
If he awakes,
ravenous, awry.
I stalwart,
bloodletting,
my veins shrivel and recede;
cooked chicken veins,
empty conduit, elastic bands.
Take of my flesh,
let me be of some use
after you have strung my noose.
Not swift I say, but picasso
For I shall steal my resolve,
Like a great artist;
not mimicking the mimes
I give mine actions lips and tongues
That ceaselessly pollute the air
with blood -
Lest I forget it is on my hands.
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