It hurts so good;

I could carve it out,

slide a clean serrated blade across its skin

as it grinds against the mottled, wooden board,

steady cut by cut,

its juices, soaking

into the hard perspiring bed.

It grows back

as I cut.

Uglier, and fresher.

I want to flay it,

strip the polyps,

cancer thing. It's all wrong.