BONES

There were bones in the closet,

with wilted flesh that smothered rotten against the walls.

I didn’t take them out to trash.

The smell continues to linger,

attacking all senses,

despite being blended with a fragrance I dared to keep.

Sometimes we choose to stand by the awful,

the eerie,

the prosaic,

—-the skeletons.

It’s that pathetic human trait;

never knowing how to dispose of,

something that’s already meant to be waste.

*Written in December 2009

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