NOBODY MATTERS : Skeleton Cycløps

broken souls, just sticks and stones each are jointed with a wishful bone,

filled with pours to empty its tomb

halfway full, given a bit to groom

caked with flesh, the stench of mold,

raised with hairy limbs, fresh skins of gold

buried deeply a harvested soul,

chest of treasures, pedal spikes like rose

pricking blades that field and plow,

arrows impacting every heelless toe

collecting the greens forbidden to know

each destiny seeks, a pair of snow angles

as the bareness plots make bonds to sow,

defining our brains into fortress pine cones

releasing outdated flights in heigh zones,

sliced open by scalps to let it all show

interlocking the branches, realizing the growth

setting all the roots free, to sprout & take a bow.