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let me pull out each of your bones
unearth them from your flesh

clinging to each in a caliper’s
dusty metal jaw

let me scrap them
those rigid brushes to pull away the energy

but some gentle, like baby skins
for the finest crevices

i’ll dig each one slowly, like it’s
the only one of its breed left

let me gloss them, lick from them
the blood and find in them the sweet

delicate marrow, find out how thick it is, what color it is, how long

it would take to evaporate in the sun
and what would be left if it did

let me print out for you everything
that could be printed out with your little bones

some people say the worst part of tearing
a bone is hearing the crack

a confined sound somehow the loudest there has ever been

a warning that tells you
something’s subsistence has been interrupted

that you are no longer the same
as the first prototype of you

when archaeologists split bones
from the skeleton of the earth

we never picture them
broken, to us they are voiceless

they are somehow fragile
and lighter than they’ve ever been

these are the bones that define the others
they are golden because

they’ve been wandering for so long
they are golden because they are alone

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