Skin and Bone

Posted on May 19, 2011

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I dove right in

empty-bodied and new

Filling up on the depths of it

Getting under the city’s skin,

I felt outward,

temperature and texture:

Raised grains for each pore

dancing to breathe

my skin and bone

grew.

Now.

Eyes closed, shower patting my head,

with intentional kindness,

I envision cartilage

wrapped ribs

against the skin of my back.

I  think

to later make                               a rendering of

skin and bone.

 

I am a plain contraption

put together with the strings of sinew,

Moved about, like the puppet of something great,

That, which once before me,

rendered all the

skin and bone.

The stress collects swiftly in that absence of control:

A hollow where the nape of neck lives.

I stretch to feel that space, but it’s been

clear cut by cities.

My shoulder blades

have dulled

around the edges,

due to the seasonal warmth

of my coronary

melt

ing.

So

Their steps cross onto our terrain now,

trespassing too readily,

we agreed.

They pioneer the saplings, and buds:

just verdant and vulnerable.

But you are,

the continuing prairie to my stoic hills,

The bone structure to my embellishments,

and

I am the muscles snaking through your back.

 

We both live in this city now,

just rendering more

skin and bone.

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Posted in: Poetry