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Wednesday, January 30, 2008

The Bone Parade

The music man sits amidst the pile of bones
Eyes crooked on dirty wrinkled face
Humming an awkward sound in awkward tones
His hands move fast in strokes through this space

Clavicle bone now clutched in his left hand
And a clean baby femer in the other
He rises to his feet, searching for the band
Awkward tones form a song for his mother

Feet stomp to the ground below him
The bones clank and move all around
Neck bone, t bone, steak meat trim
He hollers loud to find the right sound

The clavicle collar provides a rock steady beat
Baby femer drum sticks and feet without toes
The bones beneath his skin accompany the heart its heat
The band meets his highest highs with their lowest lows

They march in unison and follow his lead
Hammering their dense bone machines loudly
Up ahead, he hollers and skips to pick up speed
Marching steady, banging his drum proudly

-AP 01/30/08