Malak Mattar, Untitled (detail), 2024, charcoal on paper
Bones
This morning my thighbones
were missing, my head
had turned itself around &
since when is the anklebone
connected to the neckbone?
The kneebone to the toe?
It gets worse!
I can’t shake my hands or
feet, can’t throw my whole
self in anymore. Whatever
it’s all about, boy, is a
bad hokey-pokey.
Published:
Gerald Costanzo
Gerald Costanzo is interested in clichés. He has published poems in The Ohio Review, AGNI, The Nation, kayak, and many other places. (updated 1974)
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