Bones

by James Ducat

 

My skeleton hides, teases,
                           makes burlesque 
adjustments: peek-a-boo 
                            rib cage, scapula.

My left side hates my right:
                            a bone-thorn pricks each time 
              either elbow rises above my ego,

                                          irrepressible kiss-lips knife-wound
                 puckering.

                             Animal
beneath a slack cloud.

Metal mesh keep my innards 
              from wandering skyward.

                          Those days I meandered, nothing to hold 
my organs in place.

Now my abdomen clings to absence
             hewn from misshapen gravity; 

this stranger at a carnival: the prize.

---

James Ducat’s work has appeared in CutBank, Apogee, Spoon River Poetry Review, The Inflectionist Review, and others. James received his MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles and is associate professor of English at Riverside City College, where he co-advises MUSE, the literary magazine.