Blades

Blades

the sound of a food processor
makes a claim on the vinyl air

nothing gathers except the churn
blades slashing away

eyes sting without blinking
from the lure of sliced thoughts
chunky moans exit
against stainless steel

with a Judas kiss
I recall the sacrifice

bone-handled cleaver
comforting thud
on a wooden chopping board

water drizzled on stone
with masterful ease
to the scrape of a tempered edge

sweet expired sounds
measured against
brutal technology

I hear myself
cutting into prayer