Sunday, August 16, 2015



The wishbone is called the furcula. "Little fork" in latin. Fuse the clavicles you have it. The word/the term/the sentiment keeps rising to the top of my writing. Vision of a slicked knuckle digging through flesh to find it. The wash and wait to dry. All that want wasted on it. The energy stored in this bit of mirrored parenthesis must be phenomenal. Muscles stitched here stretched by downstroke. Midflight mechanics, in transit. Imagine them growing violent. Thrashing out of the meat to leave on comical feet. Tiptoe bones ghosting.

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