Curate, connect, and discover
You pluck out old bones from your body like errant thought; dropping them carelessly to the ground.
They crunch and crack under thick black boots; crumbling to dust.
And you sigh as if this change and growth in yourself is tedious and detached as the pruning if a bush.
Cutting away stray branches with the sickening crack of bone.
Brushing them away with the sweep of your hand as if these pieces never came from you; they aren't of use.
And I wish at once to be as numb and strong as you.