It is excision,
       Precise, clean,
            surgically accurate. 

     So quick in its movement that the end created is not
splayed or jagged
       – a fine cut, so swift that the depth is uncertain,
             but most definitely abysmal. 

                         A cutting away, or from, that ever stifles the gasp,
leaving a shockwave that stuns in its overwhelming disorientation.
                     The razor’s edge severs with astounding sharpness.
The resulting wound, inflicted by such a sterile tool,
              finds nothing to wince from in its unimaginable stupor.

                      Foundering in asphyxiation which cannot kill
               It leaves one seeking annihilation.
                           Irreversibility desperately needing a frayed end,
                         a bleeding way out… something to release.
That does not come, and it never educates,

                                 but returns each time as if again
                                     for the first time…
                                         the world is gone.

             And yet….

 tpt 9/1998