A smooth crimson faucet spouts
From the newly severed tail, swaying on a trestle
And strung by the gills, gruesome
Though necessary, as it must be bled out
Naturally, the heart still beating as the twitching body
Expels its own life giving nectar, assisted by gravity
Where as the circulatory system should send it
Rushing back to its central engine, but instead
Careens blood-thirstily out the back door
And soaks the bermuda grass, gushing
Into the soil, seeping through the pores
That the garden hose cannot penetrate, but
Sacrificed to fertilize the lawn, will find new fins
Rising admirably above the earth, green against
The dark idleness of death, blooming
In the veins of suburbia, these lives cut short
By blades of grass.