Wild To The Obnoxious Bone Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Wild to the obnoxious bone
I scribble my tell tale giving’s
to the all hopes of here after,
not expecting more
than this vicarious moment.

Stretched, mangled and ironed
by influx and brief disturbances
I plough this earth in my own fashion
grieving naught but the end
of all cantankerous coils.

Once there was a tin bone
clothed in rubbery flesh,
an astute student of the morning,
erasing all fear with presence
and a touch of love’s flight.

Who now can contest
the windward days of my life,
continentally spread and gone
like ghosts of an extraordinary past
with no bearing on today’s core.