I have want poetry like a skeleton
conscious and deliberate
of its specific form
burned away of the excess
the frivolous
and I wonder:
what is wrong with the flesh?
the muscle
the skin
the organs
they are more dirty,
more human than
the solidity of bones
their staticity is a lie
because they too can crack
from being too brittle
unlike the maleable flesh
which is soft and fluid
elastic
in the way that it is never the same
always regenerating cells
by reaffirming its existence
while others decompose and fade away
absorbed into the exterior and surrounding world
leaving its particles on every surface touched
and falling away
dying and blossoming so quickly
that this body looks solid.