Thursday, December 1, 2005

an ax to grind.

i am soft wood
your prized possession.
against your palm i rest
while you make your decision.

you gently whittle away
in the's the best time
, you say.

shaping me the way you want me to be:
and for you darling, anything
an outlet, a plug
the spout of your water bottle
the raspberries of your mouth
your snuff jar
and your jam box
the graceful arch of a neck.
not mine, but someone else's.
the exit sign.

until you've gently whittled me all away
until you finally get what you want
a stick
a pick
and with a flick
we take the morsel away.

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