Knife Heaven
KNIFE HEAVEN
At the end I was partly rusty and my blade was twisted
Handle had long ago come off
I sensed it was the scrap heap for me as soon as
She found a new sharp blade in the kitchen
Knives are not Buddhists
We don’t come back as ax heads
Or machine parts, or paper clips
We go to knife heaven where
Our blades are straightened and sharpened,
With a new handle replacement
And we live permanently in a drawer of shiny cutlery
With angel choir knife music playing constantly.
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