there is no time for bones. changing skins of sex fire and other enlightened things. each springtime, whether to erase time or bare ourselves to the sun. (some people wear out their elbows that way.) mouths like wine and knives in oranges. this is the stuff of naked poetry, sayable for unsayable things.
it’s like a cure for metaphysical disease. the idea of a pure silk body, the warmth of isolation, is a simple deceptive statement. (too cumbersome for trees.) but you and i—you and i—are not synthetic. we don’t wear houses. or cover our mouths with styrofoam. (not yet.) the distance between premonitions is real.
you and i, we got bones for unthinkable things. for ancestors and campfires and miracle of hummingbirds. wooden scent of afternoon rain. the preservation of myths, forests. and the radical idea the world is (not) infinite madness. faith is the universe reborn in a body. fresh magic of laughter, play, sex, surprise. invisible for invisible things.
The Used Life 
8 responses to “There is no time for bones.”
Wow. I love this. Especially the line, “faith is the universe reborn in a body.” That line will play around in my head for a long time.
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Thank you very much! I’m happy you enjoyed this one…and that line, to me too, is probably the most meaningful of the whole poem.
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Needing to connect at the end of my day, this poem was the answer. 🙏 Contradictory, yet harmonious, present, yet futuristic, and realistic, yet fantastical.
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Thank you so much, Michele. I am happy you feel that way. 🙂
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I too loved that line
Faith is the universe reborn… “
this was a surrealist poem for me
Has an earthly effect too at parts
Balanced out well
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Thank you for the kind words. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
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Like Suz said, real magic is contained in words. Your words. Let everyone see it so. 😉
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Thank you, J. At least Suz was right about something…I’m glad you think so highly of this poem. 🙂
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