Tuesday Poem: May We Cut You?

We are standing by.
Our knives are very sharp.

It would please us very much.
You will feel a slight distress.

Tungsten, beryllium.
Knives as sharp as love.

Masked and gowned and sterilised.
Knives as sharp as love.


Credit note: Created by the strange mind of Tim in 2007 or thereabouts, retrieved on Monday from the depths of his unpublished poetry files.

Tim says: This is probably the least Christmassy poem ever, but I wanted to post one more poem before going into holiday mode. From next week onwards, I will follow my usual summer blogging practice of posting (a) YouTube clips of music I've particularly enjoyed during the year, in the improbable expectation that you might enjoy it too, and (b) my traditional "What I read in 20xy" posts.

Following representations from concerned blog users, I will make the music posts shorter this time round, so they don't take so long to load. One post per genre is my new motto! Will power metal, technical metal and Swedish melodeath all get individual posts? Inquiring minds don't want to know.

The Tuesday Poem: Goes from strength to strength.