Alex Boyd Poems

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tonight I was surprised by my skull
was brushing my hair and found it there
thin and blind to what can come crashing -
waiting for the nest of a pillow
to have all movement drop away

poor bones are pulled along in the dark
don't know when they cross at a streetlight,
cars waiting like thoughtless animals
held behind a gate, eyes glaring
cotton-tails of fumes looking harmless
while sets of hooked up bones start walking
(bones know they jumped but don't hear the cry
of the car, see the iron shooting)

and then remembering an old dream
when I was nestled under thick tar
with only a straw to breathe - I know
that dream must have belonged to my bones

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