A ripple of air gently cut by his slow moving hand,

The pin sharp slicing of the hubbub by the ringing of a chime,

The cut of a suit made specifically for the man,

As sharp eyes take note of the second hand slicing time,

All angular, all blades when there are no blades present,

Yet the deep cuts exacted by the keen edge of an incisive mind,

Leave others slashed hard in a way they resent,

As the brightest person in the room is sharply defined,

And a tongue like a razor wielded by a demon barber,

Is more like a scalpel in the surgeons hand,

As it slices through clouded thoughts each other present may harbour,

And cuts to the truth so that all may understand.