All the old knives

Bicker in the drawer

Confined within their reason. Candid shots 

Define the moments

Elevating the tension

Fusing the air with 

Gossip and snickering about

How to recover unscathed

Indeed why not

Justify the need for a juicy slice of gall

Kowtowing to this strange steed. 

Little do they know the 

Mind or the mendacity of the 

Nag or of her species

Observing them; or of their

Plague amid the plethora of

Questions, the utensils 

Recumbent still

Sharp though dull on

Table manners

Understandably

Vexing to the horse who

Whinnies that her frame as well as her closet contains two X- chromosomes. The blades, clueless about the ABCs of

 X

 Y 

 Z.

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