It is in the Knife
It is in the knife to split substance.
It is in the knife to seize the magnet.
The paradox: saw the bread in half,
now there are two pieces. Division
and multiplication make similar
products. More stuff. Look at your
impulse to cut, look out for it.
Hack at the thing and you have
copied it. Recall your last haircut,
how as you left you stepped over
piles of strands, strewn thick as hay.
All that hair was reaped from your head,
from what still hangs thick from
your scalp. As disintegrating of a force
as it may be, the blade replicates.
The knife was born to cleave
and cling. From its teeth, edges
emerge, freshly-forged perimeters.