It is a sort of perfection
which buzzes and whines
over the table
shimmering and glistening
with unearthly glamour,
wings catching the light
and throwing it back
broken into rainbow pieces.
It is a sort of perfection
which the hand
thunders down upon.
Almost-but-not-quite
crushing away life
with
A single swipe is reflex
followed by astonished silence.
A second may be cruelty
or a twisted sense of power;
playing God.
A third -
that is a kindness.
A humane euthanasia
(unfortunate dismemberment)
to sooth the guilty conscience
of the accidental murderer.
That crushing weight of flesh -
the hand -
the last semblance of
love
which that
sort-of-perfection
can ever know.
