Recently found this odd little poem while browsing through a long-neglected folder of lyric fragments: Skeletons The sound of bone grinding on bone The skeletons head off to work It takes four of their strange instruments Combined Each silent on its own To emulate the sound of a single tired guitar They use bottle after bottle of moisturizer To protect against the bleaching of the sun Drink lots of milk Eat lots of cheese To stave off osteoporosis For some reason They all think theyre fat They groom themselves obsessively And buy a ridiculous number of hairbrushes All things considered Theyre always going for x-rays Just because they can They wear casts like jewelry But nobody signs them You can play their ribs like a xylophone But it sounds stupid and unmusical Like sticks hitting other sticks But not in a good way And it makes them irritable Like it would If someone smacked you in the ribs And called it art.
Posted on: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 02:12:51 +0000
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