Ripper's Hand Poem by Antonio Liao

palm gird
its direction, pointing neither
straight
nor curve it goes where
it begins and holds
what makes
it fulfill, the night shows no mercy

direction
has nothing to say
and the star above pointless
array even it
catches perfect horizon
in a compass way but still it pushes
no limit
our eyes couldn't see

the ripper's blade
cut with honor
regardless of whose right or wrong;
for sharpen edge
hit the core,
with the guillotine eye feasts
the flesh,
the night whistles the day
of spoilage crate

now take me
where I shall stop; the nail and the
hair has clever to ask,
as the head wants
it to stop, the Ripper's mind always
come
with hands in the top