Margaret Atwood - Song of the Hen's Head lyrics

After the abrupt collision
With the blade, the Word, i rest on the wood
Block my eyes
Drawn back into their blue transparent
Shells like molluscs i contemplate the Word

While the rest of me
Which was never much under
My control, which was always
Inarticulate, still runs
At random through the grass, a plea
For mercy, a single flopping breast
Muttering about life
In it's thickening red voice

Feet and hands chase it, scavengers
Intent on rape: They want it's treasures
It's warm rhizomes, enticing sausages
It's yellow grapes, it's flesh
Caves, five pounds of sweet money
It's juice and jellied tendons
It tries to escape
Gasping through the neck, frantic

They are welcome to it
I contemplate the Word
I am dispensable and peaceful

The word is an O
Outcry of the useless head
Pure space, empty and drastic
The last word I sad the word is No