Bone speak

“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.” 

–      William Shakespeare




Bone speak

Not yet


Yet perhaps

A bit of a rattle

De temps en temps

Where I have lain


In the past


That speeding car

Stopping in the back

Of my own

Fracturing C2

The axis

Of my revolving

Kindly you didn’t

Sever spinal connections


So many years ago

Even a scan doesn’t

Find a trace of you

Yet the coldest wind

Tightens its grip

Rappel de mon cou

Of what might

Have been


The only evidence

Lies buried beneath

Long muddy brown locks

Burr holes, for traction

A puzzle for future


Pas du tout

My ashes will not

Be found





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