And I come to the virtual page
Empty handed
Waiting to be filled up
Waiting to be sucked dry
For my marrow to crack
Gleaned and broken
Tossed aside
To be revered later...
The bones on the fire
They don't burn...
They only twist and writhe
And wait...
While the moon makes a pass at the sun.
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1 comment:
As much as I love your poetry - and you know I do - I keep hoping you'll write more fiction. I still smile when I remember the story you wrote from the picture. Remember?
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