Studio

New poems, unpublished or possibly written for radio, will appear here from time to time. It’s possible other work will show up as well.

bones, again

bones fusing, the boy shaping
into manhood, his cranium
knitting like his grandfather’s,
like the obliterated sapien, even
radius and femur gone, he raises
his arms to the morning sun, from
mandible to phalanges, he lives
hand to mouth, crouching in
long grass, or clambering a tree,
cawing like a crow, becoming
words, and bones, again.

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