Mummification

I am bored stiff as a 
placement of bone on
careful wiring at the 
museum crime scene. 

This is what happens 
when rigor-mortis sets 
and my daydreams fall
to atrophy. 

Veins will shrivel into
tightly wound coils
that no amount of
preservative could
soften. 

Spindly fingers freeze
into permanent claws,
heart bathing in a jar
of formaldehyde. 

– B. 

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