the bone

I feel like running

into a tree

slap the bark with a pat on the ass

go get ’em

in a pink icing petticoat swallowing my legs

feet, skin

skin I keep peeling off my fingers

my edges fraying

I keep getting cold, my eye only stopped pulsing today

I’m trying to whittle down my use of I

to sit under something

the pot lid of tree branches

stew with pine needles falling down

stew until there’s bone

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2 Responses to the bone

  1. Such an image, such a thought, “…stew until there’s bone.” It is essence, and there may be nothing that CAN’T be made from what has been rendered.

  2. rachvb says:

    Yes! I feel bones are the balance of a body. They don’t absorb feeling like other things in our bodies. They are hard to get into like closed doors. You have to break them to enter – unlike our hearts that are so wide open screening things – bad thoughts among it.
    I want to start again from the bones and build back only the things I want to keep.

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