on a big red plain jack walks in a circle
searching his sight onto the ground
he carries an axe in his right hand,
with the shiny blade showing his sneer

in the left hand he wears a pair of golden wings

from the top of the feathers blood is pouring
in the glasses beneath his feet

suddenly, a curtain of laughs from the vanity box –
women and men, eating gently from the big trough,
built him a statue…

***

jack on the plain – pats with black leather gloves
the roots of a wing carefully planted in soil

***

wind took away those orange leaves
that hid jack’s bones

jack!…
the slaughter is home