Poem-A-Day: Day 195

Old Bones

The sun sets on the settled bones
and I can’t bring myself to believe
the actions that have transpired,
yet, I can feel things crawling
all over my skin, under it,
and I can’t bring myself to cut them away,
to plunge the knife deep into the muscle
and fish the problems out individually,
so I lay in the thickening grass that grows
high over my body,
and I watch the sun setting
as it casts colors in every direction
except down on my settling bones
that have ceased, and turned to dust.