Axe wraps brass wire

                around his knuckles

then vanishes into the woods.
He picks a fight with anyone

who comes too close, makes

kindling from his opponents.
Bark shavings, rough and

       diseased, cover his body

as splinters, as a second skin.
He laughs at this new pain:

         this sharp to the gut,

this bruise-less breaking.
He bleeds sap, he bleeds

             metal, he bleeds

                 all too human.
So he fights. He punches

the trees, the stumps in frustration;

          he forces the splinters deeper.
So he buries his head

in the ground, rests his cheek

against the parents of his body.
Axe murders

                         every desire

that he’s ever had,
then wraps brass wire

                     around his guts,

and vanishes into the wood.