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No gearing up or getting to speed, just an instant rage, the rush of metal lashing out at air, connected to the mains. The chainsaw with its perfect disregard, its mood to tangle with cloth, or jewellery , or hair. The chainsaw with its bloody desire, its sweet tooth for the flesh of the face and the bones underneath, its grand plan to kick back against nail or knot and rear up into the brain. I let it flare, lifted it into the sun and felt the hundred beats per second drumming in its heart, and felt the drive-wheel gargle in its throat.
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No gearing up or getting to speed, just an instant rage, the rush of metal lashing out at air, connected to the mains. The chainsaw with its perfect disregard, its mood to tangle with cloth, or jewellery , or hair. The chainsaw with its bloody desire, its sweet tooth for the flesh of the face and the bones underneath, its grand plan to kick back against nail or knot and rear up into the brain. I let it flare, lifted it into the sun and felt the hundred beats per second drumming in its heart, and felt the drive-wheel gargle in its throat.
Simon Armitage
C HAINSAW VERSUS THE PAMPAS GRASS It seemed an unlikely match. All winter unplugged, grinding its teeth in a plastic sleeve, the chainsaw swung nose-down from a hook in the darkroom under the hatch in the floor. When offered the can it knocked back a quarter-pint of engine oil and juices ran from its joints and threads , oozed across the guide-bar and the maker's name, into the dry links. 
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The pampas grass with its ludicrous feathers and plumes. The pampas grass, taking the warmth and light from cuttings and bulbs, sunning itself , stealing the show with its footstools, cushions and tufts and its twelve-foot spears.
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The pampas grass with its ludicrous feathers and plumes. The pampas grass, taking the warmth and light from cuttings and bulbs, sunning itself , stealing the show with its footstools, cushions and tufts and its twelve-foot spears.
From the summerhouse, still holding one last gulp of last year's heat behind its double doors, and hung with the weightless wreckage of wasps and flies , mothballed in spider's wool . . . from there, I trailed the day-glo orange power line the length of the lawn and the garden path, fed it out like powder from a keg, then walked back to the socket and flicked the switch, then walked again and coupled the saw to the flex - clipped them together. Then dropped the safety catch and gunned the trigger.

This was the sledgehammer taken to crack the nut. 58102500
This was the sledgehammer taken to crack the nut. Probably all that was needed here was a good pull or shove or a pitchfork to lever it out at its base. Overkill. I touched the blur of the blade against the nearmost tip of a reed - it didn't exist. I dabbed at a stalk that swooned, docked a couple of heads, dismissed the top third of its canes with a sideways sweep at shoulder height - this was a game. I lifted the fringe of undergrowth, carved at the trunk - plant-juice spat from the pipes and tubes and dust flew out as I ripped into pockets of dark, secret CH warmth .400000
This was the sledgehammer taken to crack the nut. Probably all that was needed here was a good pull or shove or a pitchfork to lever it out at its base. Overkill. I touched the blur of the blade against the nearmost tip of a reed - it didn't exist. I dabbed at a stalk that swooned, docked a couple of heads, dismissed the top third of its canes with a sideways sweep at shoulder height - this was a game. I lifted the fringe of undergrowth, carved at the trunk - plant-juice spat from the pipes and tubes and dust flew out as I ripped into pockets of dark, secret CH warmth . Probably all that was needed here was a good pull or shove or a pitchfork to lever