It is a wonder, to feel
Chemical peeling, remove the first three layers of dead, useless skin
And the new life was sleeping beneath it, isn't that always the way?
Raw, untouched, unloved by nature's oils,
Unfelt by the rough but gentle fingers of maternal hands
Steady my trembling, I cannot see the page when it moves like that.
Do not remove me from my grieving,
I need these little deaths;
It is right that I should lay down in their little graves and feel the weight of the earth scatter over them.
It is right that I should feel the sting, deep in the part of my nature which knows that the betrayal is always greeted with a kiss
I am the man who stands in outrage, and cuts the ear from the soldiers head,
And then turns in shock to roosters weeping,
And removes to the city's edge