Dust & Bone

The sun don't set on the porch no more. It dies in

the glow of a glass-top door. I got sons with hands like unbaked dough.

Hearts that tick-tock way too slow. Used to be sweat, used to be

scars. Now it's just ghosts in virtual bars. As soft as

cotton in a summer rain. With a thumb swipe numb for a numstruck brain.

Oh, the medals gone dry in the hollow bone. Raising a kingdom

on a silicone throne. The porch is empty and the garden dead.

While they feed on the static in a king-size bed. Decay in the