i find a great
relaxation in
running a blade
over the whetstone
careful pressure
to form an edge
capable of slicing
electrons
at least
that’s what i
tell myself after
losing myself in
taking the nicks
from a long week
and starting anew
before accumulating
new mars on the
once perfect surface
my sunday ritual
after losing my
tether to life
before slipsliding
back into amber
a freshly sharpened
blade to carry
a smoothly shaven
head of aching
a heavy heart still
dripping black ink
and a reacclimation
to the resounding hush

thinking of her
as the blade slides
on autopilot until
a bead of red stains
the bright blue stone
sharp enough i do not
notice the cut until
the blood has been shed
a job well done
and price worthy