fishing in your gunsmoke luck
wishing for a jackstraw stroke
hanging up a hacksaw spoke
then at length, the Hacksaw spoke:
"I yearn for unity," it said.
"But I can only divide."
"I know the feeling," I replied.
"My mind is full of scalpels.
"My gaze is razor sharp.
"And all the world is my whetstone, yes,
"The world is my whetstone."