Detaching his head from his torso
my ax swings once
his eyes and tongue and bloodied hair
roll away in grotesque elegance

My silver ax
only slightly reddened
is still sharp
hardly dulled by it's quick neat stroke

My silver ax
these golden ideas
rip apart the old
tearing away all that clings on

But some are too set in their ways
and for them
the ax must swing hard
making a clean break
from the old
to the new