Gravestone

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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