HOME | DD

Description
Someone carve me out in rotting wood.
Dig out the curves and points of my name, which they refuse to speak;
I want to be remembered in the tiny park by the riverside
That infant waterfall running red with my favourite paint
Remembered by the ants and the squirrels and the watersnakes.

They run from me; it is the custom
that I should follow.
it's what's done in polite circles.
can't just grab and eat and eat, no—
that would be rude.

i hunt, i hunt.
in the end, the thing that kept them alive smears over me,
their life soaked into my skin and bones and clothing,
applied lovingly like calligraphy.
my art is death.
i am the Michaelangelo of my trade, every stroke
(of brush or blade)
given with respect, with dignity, with beauty.

the draining of their blood gives me my name.

They do fear me, oh do they, the world out there
They won't, soon.
They won't fear anything, soon.

Description
Someone carve me out in rotting wood.
Dig out the curves and points of my name, which they refuse to speak;
I want to be remembered in the tiny park by the riverside
That infant waterfall running red with my favourite paint
Remembered by the ants and the squirrels and the watersnakes.

They run from me; it is the custom
that I should follow.
it's what's done in polite circles.
can't just grab and eat and eat, no—
that would be rude.

i hunt, i hunt.
in the end, the thing that kept them alive smears over me,
their life soaked into my skin and bones and clothing,
applied lovingly like calligraphy.
my art is death.
i am the Michaelangelo of my trade, every stroke
(of brush or blade)
given with respect, with dignity, with beauty.

the draining of their blood gives me my name.

They do fear me, oh do they, the world out there
They won't, soon.
They won't fear anything, soon.