Among twenty snow white tables,
The only thing reflecting
was the steal of the knives.
II
I saw the three minds.
Each like a blade
In waiting to be used.
III
The knives chopping in
the warm colored kitchen.
They are a big part
of every dinner.
IV
A cook and a prep cook
Are one.
A cook and a prep cook
and a knife
Are two.
V
There is not one to know
which to prefer,
The unsightliness of beauty
Or the aesthetics of
the vile;
The knife slicing
or just after?
VI
Knives filled the long
drawer
With barbaric wood.
The gleam of the
Knife
Was hidden, inside it.
An aura
Dancing in the reflection
Making no cause.
VII
Oh! Poor men of places
Why do you imagine
Strong swords?
Do you not see how a
Knife
is used among the hands
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know nothing of art
Those fulgent, inescapable
patterns;
I only know
That knives are always
involved
In what I dream.
IV
When the knife was
thrown out of sight,
It reflected the red
of one of many cuts.
X
At the sight of sharp steel
Laying in a bright shadow
The Banshees of
Purgatory
Would be silenced quickly.
XI
He strode over
to the kitchen
returning the glass
Soon, that fear pierced
him,
So quickly that he dropped
the glass from his hands
and saw
the patterns of the knives.
XII
The blood is flowing
The knife must be
Slicing.
XIII
It was dark all afternoon
It was cloudy
And it was going to rain.
The knife waited
In the quivering fingers.
