wishbone | poem

*loud clunk* *old timey fuzzy radio voice* I am lonesome for a saint in a world without redemption We putt our souls on bones for complaints of problems we deliver to ourselves Roll out the muscles in your back left shoulder to right a temporary hold on the weight of the world over them but Sometimes we have to break our bodies to grow taller you are the fire in your brain and the smoke that chokes you out, too. I am a wishbone at the best of times A slender promise to what will rain down on me grab the other hand of this bone and s n a p I’ll put my everything into someone else’s life. I am a wishbone at the best of times.

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