A Chainsaw Poem
I came across a chainsaw poem the other day and wanted to share it. Who would have thought that such a thing existed? Source: Poem of the week: Chainsaw by John Kinsella Chainsaw The seared flesh of wood, cut to a polish, deceives: the rip and tear of the chain, its rapid cycling a covering up of raw savagery. It is not just machine. In the blur of its action, its guttural roar, it hides the malice of organics. Cybernetic, empirical, absolutist. The separation of Church and state, conspiracies against the environmental lobby, enforcement of fear, are at the core of its modus operandi. The cut of softwood is deceptive, hardwood dramatic: just before dark on a chill evening the sparks rain out — dirty wood, hollowed by termites, their digested sand deposits, capillaried highways imploded: the chainsaw effect. It is not subtle. It is not ambient. It is trans nothing. A clogged airfilter has it sucking up more juice — it gargles, floods, chokes into silence. Saw
