Eva Lundsager, Were now like (detail), 2021, oil on canvas
Bones
This morning my thighbones
were missing, my head
had turned itself around &
since when is the anklebone
connected to the neckbone?
The kneebone to the toe?
It gets worse!
I can’t shake my hands or
feet, can’t throw my whole
self in anymore. Whatever
it’s all about, boy, is a
bad hokey-pokey.
Gerald Costanzo is interested in clichés. He has published poems in The Ohio Review, AGNI, The Nation, kayak, and many other places. (updated 1974)