I'm pitiful today,
A pitiful pile of clavicles
And hay that the baler couldn't reach,
Lying out here in the sun
Like a beached whale.

But if them dry bones of mine could walk,
I'd pick myself up,
Dust off the chalk from the lines that have already been drawn,
And be glad the baler neglected me,
And thankful this world has rejected me,
And leap for joy at all my tendencies,
And picture what I'd be with ligaments and tendons hooking up all these clavicles of mine,
Stringing 'em up in a fancy line and wiggling
And giggling and dancing off into time.

-jenn