January 28, 2008
MONDAY POEM
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Down to the Bone
Jim Culleny
If I could un-ring certain bells and un-wind time I
would, but can’t, so instead, I'll just ride this bucket
of bones till the wheels fly off; till ball-joints grind
and drop from sockets; till this xylophone of ribs riffs
the music of the spheres; until my funny bone
tells its last joke; till my shoulder blades cleave the
universe in two and find the nut within; until I'm
hipper than both hips and happier; till I'm savvy at
last, slicker than elbow grease, and mute as a smart
metatarsal; until I'm wiser than a thought-stuffed
skull; until I knee-cap my inner sonofabitch to stop
his useless jawin' so I can hear one clear day
resound off tiny anvils and ride the lyrical looped
song of a backyard bird round Lew Welch's ring of
bone. Instead…I'll just splint what needs splinting right here at home.
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Posted by Jim Culleny at 03:14 AM | Permalink























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