Burning The Emptier Ax

Harrison Fisher

A man is without ax: the blade
a steel plate in his forehead,
aftermath of an old war injury.
The handle planted in his house.
A man will worship the strange
sprouts and think decapitation
not so bad. A man oozes
through the barrel of a gun
and finds he is coming right
for himself.
For the window of a tree.
A man welcomes himself
into his small church
of blood and twigs.

 

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