An elven song

The Nobodies out the back are selling

Front row tickets to watch me being hit,

Pains heavy as a hammer, which, created for its purpose, to run

Rusty nails in, makes it, according to Aristotle,  holy,

Purpose fulfilled the hammer is good

In philosophy, but philosophy be a built

Tree, a form composed of sharp edges, whereas a living tree,

Be rooted in shapely beauty, as rare as our planet, as unique,

In harmony, purpose wedded to cruelty,

Then hammer your eyes in! Nails in my

Wooden coffin, branches outgrowing, that’s the fun and

Humour of form and substance, how each meet – the form Becomes human, you, G, in all that’s

Beauty, but I don’t think you’re good, love a cruel nail in my tree,

And I no longer care for ethics, only the tool where it belongs,

The smile to come, that’s my goodness,

And all other judgements – leave to compassion