Sunday, August 2, 2009


I carried my bones in a bag,
over my shoulder
or pulled behind my heals
by a drawstring.
the marrow clanked over the rocks
and I heard the canvas tear
and felt the decayed tendons
slip through the frays,
into the city sidewalk cracks
by closed down stoops
and hangouts for people
seeming only to comment.

It was an orb
with Xes over cartoon eyes -
electrical lines and wooden surges
callous thumb prints and foraying
encounters passed through me
and the skeletal concealment
like a plane through a cloud.

Various sized hands on the glass
see the fluff essence
as one large color,
when from the grass
the white retains familiar shapes
and names.

I crawled into the bag with my bones.
It was dark inside
and holes from the canvas drag made
polka dotted sense.
This reconnection of the mandible
has made the greeting audible
and the wooden splinters visible
and the paper corners evident,
or dangerous-
before I accidentally cut my eye.

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