This church of bones, of child's
fingers searching each socket for prayers
in spider dust. An ancient cough
stirs these stones, spiraling
through the rib
cages, that wet our skins.
____The scent of two thousand
year old rage of moaning
Romans, quieted in a garden of bone.
____Towers of popliteus
and palm, worshipped and worn
into a vestige, offering
them into our throats and lungs;
____a cannibal
would have craved
less than I. Begging
the dead to write it down.
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