Down to the Bone

I saw myself
a ring of bone
in the clear streamRing of Bone
of all of it
and vowed,
always to be open to it
that all of it
might flow through
and then heard
“ring of bone” where
ring is what a
bell does

………………—Lew Welch

If I could un-ring certain bells and un-wind time I
would, but can’t, so instead, I’ll just ride this bucket
of bones till the wheels fly off; till ball-joints grind
and drop from sockets; till this xylophone of ribs
riffs the music of the spheres; until my funny bone
tells it’s last joke; till my shoulder blades cleave the
universe in two and find the nut within; until I’m
hipper than both hips and happier; till I’m savvy at
last, slicker than elbow grease, and mute as a smart
metatarsal; until I’m wiser than a thought-stuffed
skull; until I knee-cap my inner sonofabitch to stop
his useless jawin’ so I can hear one clear day
resound off tiny anvils and ride the lyrical looped
song of a backyard bird round Lew Welch’s ring of
bone   —Instead I’ll just splint what needs splinting
right here at home.

Jim Culleny; 5/19/05

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