We weren’t always skeletons

We weren’t always skeletons

But when you strip everything away

This is what you get

A collection of bones

Some bigger, others smaller

But essentially

Who can tell the difference?

Boil it down

To the marrow

If you will

Many have

Some for good reasons

Others bad

Season the cooking pot

Give the dog a bone

Along with a name

Let him chew on it awhile

Become indifferent to the rattle

Of old chains.

It is the living we need to

Be wary of,

Jacob Marley

Had a point to prove.

There are too many

Philistines

With little regard for the cost

Of a good night’s sleep,

Sitting in the dark

Dancing without moving

Listening to Cockatoos

Mating.

The sound of breaking glass

From the pub on the corner

With the wire mesh

And a swastika

Hanging from the wall

In a back room

Behind the bar.

Nighttime is never the right time

For lonely vigils

The worst of us

Hiding within the best of us

Sleep-deprived aliens.

Altered states

As a precursor

To ghostly delusion

After images of other times

And other places.

We all have a skeleton

In a cupboard

Fitted with a lock

To hold back the doors

Full to bursting

With the old days

When there was more than

Enough flesh

To sate the appetite

Of any unearthly monster.

Spit them out

They are the bones of me.