Bones Live Forever

There were times I was alone,

dangerously close to boredom.

There were seeds living in my soul,

growing weeds in all my questions.

Like, do bones live forever?

Can you knock out the wind before it goes on and chatters?

How long will rope last in a river?

Will the fibers get thin when they're soaking in the water?

I am home again.

Didn't take a lifetime.

I should lose my way much more often;

it keeps me always looking forward.

Do scars have a sense of humor?

Could I find out with a match and some paper?

Next time you write a letter,

go ahead, seal it, and address it to the water.

My wavering concentration

can go straight to hell.

Not a war would unbalance me.

Do nerves sit still when they find what they are after?

Can a boat whisper the changes to the rudder?

There's a pattern I'd like to alter:

I found out you're not drinking enough water.

It's not a good sign, not a good sign, not a good sign.

That damn tide.

Yes, I got to get this timed, and try to get it on my side.

It's a good side, it's a good side.

It's a good side.

But, every time I counted on you, you lost your way...

If a knot's too tight, will it tell me with a shudder?

If I never came home, when would they discover?

How long will rope last in a river?

Will the fibers get thin, when they're dead out in the water?

©2015 Megan Slankard