Sonnet1.com/human_maker

It seems to float along our new cold floor,
An eye a yellow eye that writhes and twists
Across glossy metal plates like steel doors,
Silent, sterile knives that never miss.

What – brain cuts – widely
Set apart eyes – is it?
Stuttering dents go by
Curled dry lips – tied to –

Stabs dig down deep

To – flesh – pads –

Dig dig

Flesh.

So let us say they lived content at last:
This image reflected in steel, glass.

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