PARADELLE OF A PLASTIC SURGEON

He believed in the sanctity of a face;
he believed in the sanctity of a face,
but not of a soul, so he slowly cut away the flesh;
but not of a soul, so he slowly cut away the flesh.
Slowly, in the face of a soul he cut away
he believed the flesh, but not so of a sanctity.

His own world was full to bursting;
his own world was full to bursting
with starry death symbols, to which the stars were blind;
with starry death symbols, to which the stars were blind.
The blind world was bursting with death,
full to his own symbols, to which were starry stars.

With a scalpel, he carved his initials;
with a scalpel, he carved his initials
into the cheekbone of a woman he once had loved;
into the cheekbone of a woman he once had loved.
He had into a woman with the scalpel of his initials;
he carved a once-loved cheekbone.

The slowly bursting cheekbone in the flesh
initials the stars. He carved not so full into a death
the symbols of a starry scalpel.
He loved a cut-away woman, which were his face,
of a soul he had once believed.
But to, of his own sanctity, he was blind.