Spine (Poem)

I knelt in the scattered rocks

The city far away, a distant mirage

And there it was, bleached and small

Nestled in solitude

Twisting solitary, quite lonely

Forgotten by the powerful consumer,

The root

Broken and all loss

Like twisted steps descending their way home

Desiring to plunge into flesh, into blood

To nurture sensation and touch

To Give life to wracked nerves, and nervous firings.

A fine thing

Masterful art in silence

Beckoning under skin in its day,

Now beckoning bone white, under death’s hallowed space.

I remembered then, how fine life was, how delicate

That even when it ceased, it consumed my senses.

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