these troubled thoughts
this collection of disquiets
like dry bones gathering dust
their lifeless forms encrusted with
the fine thin black ink
her diary of desperate longings
written on each bone like magic runes
like roadmaps to dark kingdoms

she keeps the bones
in a wooden box behind the concreate wall
with burning incense
to mask the smell of fear
unfounded in these the enlightened years
but illustrated neatly in comic book fashion
by her masked superhero natural appearances
just that little somthing dangerouse in the
steel glint of her grey eyes

these troubled thoughts
are loud in my mind
broadcast to all who are not too blind to see
like the garish sound of transistor radio
just off a station of cheap music
these dark feelings run like knives down my spine
the seep into my own bones
which are also handwritten chapters
of her diary of self deceptions and denials

i manufacture a vehicle of escapism
in the words i tap out on my kindle
but it rings hollow in the face
of her beautiful decay
of her own disquiet tears
unable to shake free of these dark feelings
i throw the dry bones in the sea
and listen as she demands that i drown the
remainder of my unkind words with them
we finally stand hand in hand
at the edge of the world
watching the dry bones sail
into the crisp dawn
like a sailboat making for spain