Steven Schroeder | dancing with his hands, Butcher Ting says
When I began, I saw
nothing but the ox.
After three years,
I saw no ox.
Now I cut eyes closed,
follow what is, see nothing.
A good cook changes knives once a year.
A bad cook changes knives month in,
month out. Nineteen years
and my knife is good as new.
Spaces between joints, no
thickness to the edge of the blade,
there is room for play. When
I come to a hard place, I go slow
until the whole falls apart like a clod of dirt
crumbling. Satisfied,
I stand. I have no desire
to go on.
from only gifts changing hands. forget gutenberg | 2011
