Malak Mattar, Untitled (detail), 2024, charcoal on paper
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.
Published:

Gerald Costanzo
Gerald Costanzo is interested in clichés. He has published poems in The Ohio Review, AGNI, The Nation, kayak, and many other places. (updated 1974)
Related Articles
Search Engine
Poetry by Kristina Martino
My Brother
Poetry by Paisley Rekdal
Meanwhile
Poetry by Tiana Nobile
Node: When in the end
Poetry by Mai Der Vang