Fitting in perfectly

laid on the clavicle

supporting the rib cage,

protecting your breathing lungs.


A splinter no longer than—

my finger;

Lying idle, hanging and waiting

To fall out.


The tiny opening,

exiting and entering.

A broken accordion,

Playing in odd rhythms.


A prickle on the toe.

A pebble in between the nails.

An over-stressed facial muscle.

A sprained neck, a sore gum and a blocked nose.


Flowers arrangements

trapped in a metal cage,

laid over a brazen stone.


It’s the flower,

That grows beside the corpse.





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