Now this is poetry! Grips you till the last line!
Let my bones be better traveled after flesh has attended
Let them rattle on a string around the neck of creatures,
bold and roaming,
with beast hair, polished stones and a herbaceous plait;
Let my ribs protrude at a jaunty angle from plains, barren
let them, though broken and hollowed, pick sonatas from hot
and with stealth and over-the-shoulder looks let the locals
gather to listen.
Let my femur be a gnaw bone for a she-wolf full bellied
let her trot her bouncing-rear gait, muzzle lowered, wary
to her suckling pups to share; accepting yelp-thanks with
long tongue caresses.
Let my skull be a prop held and caressed by sweaty hands
by those possessed;
let them hold my diminished, polished visage and declare,
“Alas, poor poet..”
and recite true the words of those aiming to discern order
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