Richard Chetwynd --- drafts, gems, and miscellanea
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Art of the Possible
First they trim the fat. Then they cut the meat from the bone. Someone soon comes to suck out the last of the marrow. Then someone else arrives to lick the bone clean. If you’re lucky enough to find a way, you can drill holes in the bone and carve out a mouthpiece. Then you can pipe songs about going hungry, about the winter cold, getting shafted. Thus (while they prefer what turns to shit) the bone lives every time you blow into it.