old bones

old bones hurt as rainbows…sunlight…and morning comes due…bones that have been plucked over time….leaving behind fragments here and there…someday to be discovered…
discarded in a bar under bottles of booze….or a river….picked at by a bottom-feeder…old bones…

and I said there was pain….side effects…you smiled, Who doesn’t have that? Buck-up buttercup, was your reply….with a blossomed smile….pain is just part of the process….of old bones…

that is right….the hurt of the hungry….the poor…the addicted….the scared….the whore in the street…the junkie nodded out…the gambler down on his luck…the laborer whose only vice is life…old bones…

when I’m done sweep them away…throw ’em in a pit with the other impoverished…or…like a European monk… a big pile of skulls and arms and legs and pelvic portions…..just get rid of these old bones….

bring me my new robe….


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