Lug me out on a dead man’s walk
And bring my head down on the block.

Not like an axe that chips and hacks,
Just lift me, let weight wedge the cracks.

Drop me into wood’s formula plots:
Sap bleeds, sap suffers, sap clots.

Sic my steel on the stubbornest log—
I’m more loyal and dumb than a dog.

I rise and fall and rip through heart rot,
My blow barks out like a shot.

Wheel me round in an amoral waltz:
Cannots, shouldnots, wouldnots—

Chop! Not a second to spare for second thoughts
And no love lost for knots.

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