Soon the bones are always speaking
tossed by meat and prophecy
the needling of bent practice
ends in shrugged collapse, never now
a matter of repetition and paradiddle,
the reason to rosin the bow
evaporated as the trickster
makes the stakes, the spirit
wishful all the while
the flesh presents the evidence
unwound, the stuffing torn
from hope’s rag doll
the deal broken by the least
breath, damnation pretty
much like everything,
dosed by the day.