Who batters the faces gone out to shadow?
Who plucked the good and spoiled it?
Whose creation was it?
You, large moon, large silent man?
A man like my father who taught me how to kill rabbits?
A blow behind the head and a puff of fur on a wire hanger, that's all.
And if you'd hit them hard enough they'd bleed through their nose.
The width of their heads fit inside of a grape.
The dark-gold eyes, mashed-up, are like a pile of black marbles.
Their heads are so black they are purple.