Heart of a Good Book

Dead skin we flay

on which we paint

with guts we play

so food won’t waste

left on the plate

right under fate

pay bones with grace

fill space in case

we lose the taste

of what we’ve chased

dressed up in lace

the writing on my face

covered in paste

won’t leave in haste

it knows its place

on truth its based

do not wait

or mistake

this blood for hate

my muscles great

with love its paced

with life its mate

in time light fades

yet pulse remains

communicate, community made

con tin unity, scribe turns page.

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