A Hard Thing

It’s a hard thing, watching the body go to shit.
How the hip bones are buried, the fine layers
of muscle smooth over into softness.

How the ridges of the vertebrae
disappear like fossils beneath sand
and fingernails recede to the cuticle
scared to cusp the finger tip.

This poem isn’t done yet, but I thought that putting up the very beginning might help motivate me to finish it. 

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