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Mr. Bones October 31, 2014

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, New Orleans, Poetry, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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These bones
is knit with
blood offerings,
throat slit pig
hung one long night
over the slow fire.

These bones
is bound by
food for crows,
a buzzard’s buffet
& marrow
for the worms.

These bones
come some tomorrow
is all what’s left
unless, unless
I speak these words
& you remember.

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