That you take my old bones
often clinging like wind-chimes
at the old Kansas windows,
will always be a sadness

A sadness that stretches somewhere above and beyond all the colors in the sky

Something that consumes me
Starting with a lump in my throat
I wish I could spit, I wish little by little
it could leave my insides and end up on the pavement like third generation gum

But instead Im left with a feeling of dread
that casts away into the ugly orange sky
of a day dying

Time is the ugliest thing of all
it will see you and let you fall
cracked staircase after cracked staircase of soon to be
demolished houses
paint chipping off walls like leaves scattering in the fall

Tooth decaying
world greying

And you take my old bones
often, clinging like wind chimes
and you watch them dance in the dusty sky