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Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Bones of the Land

We live among the bones of the land
Between the place where the sea has slashed
Sabre sharp through the turf
Revealing the soft chalky white flesh beneath
And where the surf has scratched and scoured at the soil
To show the naked bones of the very under-rock
And we cower among the ribs
Huddling for warmth against the scalpel wind
Among the Liver and the lights
Just as a hunter on the frozen tundra
Will slaughter her horse and, slashing its stomach,
Force her blooddrenched soul into its guts
Into the warmth for succour.
And yet, when the year and the wind turns
The skeleton dries in the sun and wind
And we can make such pretty things
Carving pieces of bone for trinkets.

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