Skin Over Iron Bones

A cold city speaks of storybooks Cracks in the pavement spell out the final chapters Footsteps in the snow dotting i’s and crossing t’s A saga complete with no voice to read it aloud Yet heard by all who stop to listen.


Staring beyond the depths of the cup in my hands Into a past I long to know The view from atop the boneyard pile Is a steep descent into rolling madness.

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