Dem Bones
Some float,
move on the diameter of a whim.
A few articulate between joy and grief,
others are hinged
so that ears can hear each other.
Most are scaffolds.
One hollow bone hums in the throat,
it channels the smoky music
of sub-conscious saxophones.
A few are honeycombed for memory
and procreation.
One is a cave for old mind-muddles,
it has a window view.
All the others
are flesh garbed trombones
that slide in and out
to unlock our whoopee cushions
with their skeleton keys.
© a day ago
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