It did not hurt at all when they chopped off my head,
Just a sharp reminder I never had a head.
Your concept of existence stinks. You will see,
Theorein, after I write a book: On Your Head.
Let me rest here awhile, free from being fastest,
Yet still closest to the summit, way up ahead.
Love will suck marrow from marrowlessness itself.
Let it, or die the freezing death of being head.
Startled dove says: stop acting out of fear you fool,
Observe how easily Ozzy bites off my head.
The one secret is secrecy of saying so,
Not the top of ultimate totem, supreme head.
There was a Nicola once, a long time ago.
Now there is only what remains, this speaking head.