GRASSHOPPER COLOURING

Look look closely-eyed at my Machete,
How it glistens in the glaring sun.
The grasshopper green has turned red
And hopping around in anticipated fun.
The headless women come to me
And beg me for unforgivable forgiveness.
But their pity-patter rainy wailing
Makes me Machete-shove into their rectus.
Silence falls as my Machete speaks.
I work with artistically swish-swash poses.
I cut each one in my forbidden path.
Flesh, free-falling like tiny petals of roses.
Rage has filled me, My nostrils flare
As each despaired soul I send to her doom.
Blood splatters spray-paintlike on the grass.
Red on the grasshopper green dries to maroon.