skeleton man
meets the dust
and rusts

his white bone
is vacant of red.

skeleton man
keeps a key
in his pocket

It's a locket
That stores his heart and soul.

skeleton man walks with a limp:
an eerily timorous skip
like some frightened child

he's a ghost
That lives
And never dies.

skeleton man's cheeks are hollow
and his smile is splintered
and his hugs are cold

he's old
full of mold
he's decaying.

skeleton man walks alone
with the desert dust
and the broken, wagon wheel
and the black raven's croak
and the dissidence of a million nights spent listening to imaginary voices in the wind forever and ever and ever and ever