The Method

Of the knees we might say they beseech,
seen together on the floor, the head bowed,
where from one senses penitence and dread.
From a future of the numerous, a single sword
is held aloft. It takes two hands. From the sound
of no-sound the soon-to-be-beheaded is aware
the steel blade is beginning to descend. At once
the stricken neck flowers, a thousand rosettes,
and the head, picked up by its hair, dripping,
is thrown thoughtless in the trash. For an instant,
if one could be measured, the mind must resist,
while in reality time stops. Something about it.
A kind of gumshoe diplomacy kicks into action,
asking for clear pictures it dare not show.

Copyright © 2007 Marvin Bell All rights reserved
from Mars Being Red
Copper Canyon Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission