Rattling Backslider 

The bones know
they are naked

when the soul falls

down from them like 

a heavy quilt.
They know 

panic should set in

when the heart takes its

bow and whispers 

goodnight.
The bones know 

they are useless

when muscle and sinew

require nothing more 

of movement.
They know 

the marrow is gone

when they hear 

the rattlings caused by wind

against their frame.
The bones know 

when death is coming to

sing through their hollow

like funeral pipes. 
And my bones know

that they were created

from dust.


 

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