The wind has stopped
The woods are still
Snowflakes are coming down hard
Like shards of white thunder
My heartbeat is ticking off
The ebb and flow of my life
I pull the beast of my manhood
Oout of its lair
It lies in my hand flaccid and shrivelled
A stumpy story of self-reduction
Slice by slice
Like tiny bricks of flesh and blood
I build the shrine of my art
The mortar of pain
Binds the days of agony
Michelangelo and Leonardo
Painted joy and beauty
With keen eyes
And bristly brushes
I sculpt torment
My blade is dull
My blade is dull
My blade is dull