Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Jumble of Bones



What's left of the poor saint
but this jumble of bones?
this grinning sodbusted palette,
these fragile winglets of ribs?

What's the end of every quest
but a scatter of fossil and blood?
this empty airfilled dugout
where a brain once claimed to mind?

What's the future of bones
but to be forgotten, not forgiven?
all come to dust, but bones in situ,
remains of a silo of ended dreams?

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4 Comments:

Blogger Jim Murdoch said...

You had me won over at "grinning sodbusted palette." A wonderful little gem. Very impressed.

11:47 AM  
Blogger Art Durkee said...

Thanks! Glad you liked it.

12:21 PM  
Blogger Dave King said...

I'm with Jim - and if I hadn't been won over then, I would have been by the final line. Quite superb - as are the images.

6:37 AM  
Blogger Art Durkee said...

Thanks, Dave, glad it worked for you.

11:07 AM  

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