Another late night

I can’t sleep – it’s too hot and still for my mind to turn off. The cicadas are definitely louder than my tinnitus tonight.

Discarded
I am looking at the bare
bones pushed to the side
of a plate that
wears the battle scars
left by steak knives
and hard scrubbing
The once pristine gloss
now dulled by thousands
of minute abrasions
and what remains of an overly
thin packet gravy
The bones themselves
look dry and fragile
stripped as they are 
of flesh, connective tissue
and sinew
It is hard to image the limb
they inhabited
But then,
who am I to judge