* * *
Bones and sinews are we;
pulled apart the skin dries
when the blood runs out.
each pillowed joint
bending against itself,
as if orchestrated by minds
such as ours.
It is the automatic pulse of wisdom
that brings tears to our eyes:
Incessant, Rhythmic, tapping of dripping faucets,
The cavernous purgatory, inescapable NOW;
Now, the rushing forest of wet blankets
brushing against our cheeks.
The laboured breath filling sacks,
The worms stop eating and relax.
* * *