Crambe repetita (48)
So the henchman came with his cabbage-cutter. He decapitated the longicaule. The roots of the cabbage, their dignity wounded, cleared out like spiders from an old sock when a foot goes in. The sliced stem bristled with icebergs. The granite tetrahedron turned over, its point downward for the first time in its life, and complained that its neighbors were not letting it sleep. But nobody was around to hear it, except, perhaps, for the henchman…