a poem
Skeleton
I don't know anything
about my bones.
I thought I did, I
thought I could
feel them growing solid
like a scaffold
for my skin
But everything is wrong
now, everything is
something that it's
not
and the frame
I thought solid
falters,
stumbles,
rots
I don't know anything
about my bones.
I thought I did, I
thought I could
feel them growing solid
like a scaffold
for my skin
But everything is wrong
now, everything is
something that it's
not
and the frame
I thought solid
falters,
stumbles,
rots
posted by yelhsacrow at 12:35 PM
4 Comments:
In my journal the morning of February 10, I wrote as follows:
I am working my way closer to the bone, and the skeletal structures of fear, of loneliness, begin to reveal themselves. This is not something that has been done to me. This is who I am.
But even the structure must be understood. Why THIS bone? And why in this place? To complete this process I shall have to discover the emptiness that gave rise to the form.
Why fear? Why loneliness? Why not something else?
Why not, indeed?
~end quote
Thank you!
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