Bone Sore

From marrow to vein the thin thread of memory drags another new malignancy out into the light. I shall tuck it, as a gift, within Destot’s space and leave it to harden and calcify until it’s colour is pale and stony. This new seed inside my hidden framework will soon germinate, but will never push out towards the dying constellations. Instead, it will coil its way along ulna, humerus and clavicle and bind bad dreams into a hard, red jewel that will nestle between skull and vertebrae. Cartilage grinds and sinew creaks as this bud of echoes sprouts and entwines up through mandible and tooth. Knife to neck, hand in pajamas, sodden mattress, accusations, laughter under dimming lights. All of these petals are forever open and held aloft by invading stems that relentlessly offer up the blooms of another time. I am encased, but the stories of my joints continue to thrive and search a path through my skeletal remorse. And I will always stop to smell the flowers.