She unravelled his skin,
creased the butts of her fingers
carefully, letting the canvass fall

to the floor in cascading rolls;
set about untwining the ligaments,

biting the fat back with her nails.

She slipped his biceps in a box,

slopped the buttocks in a suitcase,
clawed the brain, dropped it

into the grey toilet with a plop,
only his blood-stitched heart left,

she set about searching

for tweezers, excuses, complaints.

Daniel Sluman

If you've any comments to make about this poem, Daniel Sluman would be pleased to hear them.

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