i've been trying to write a poem about
a bone a great big fat dried-out
multi-knuckled bone
which lies on the path
just before the side gates
to the school
well after you have stepped over
the third mound of drying horse shit
crunched a million fallen leaves
and kicked the obligatory piece
of detached engine part (maybe
a fanbelt or a short thick solid hose)
out of the way
but the poem won't stick through
slippage of association to
back-bone gnawed to the bone
boning her dry as a bone all these links
blunt the bone the _real_ bone
in front of me where i would
otherwise have landed my right foot
a brahman bull's bone
picked clean by dogs crows ants
dried out by days of sunshine
bone is better in the dirt
than on the page
it's no sculpture until it is
in a gallery
its referential reality
tucker for this mob
backbone of a weekly killer
ten dollars a head
all the meat you can eat
my head full of
ants crows and dogs
as i go into class
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/
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