Skeleton King

The skeleton of a king carved from a fossilized mammoth tusk
His bones aren’t his bone; the way mine aren’t and yours aren’t
The way yours are mine and mine are yours

Your back always hurts; I apologize for my bad posture
for posing your infrastructure so sloppily
My eyes sag violet petals; you say you have been too busy
too busy to tend to the garden
I whisper that I would like to do this

We exit the saloon before you notice I never paid
You ask, ‘Do you know good and evil?’
I know evil is good for good, I know good is evil for evil
I know god is the abridged version of good; an abridged bridge that drops off
right when you start to look at your feet, when you start to see how Christ did it

A stroll on the sea is pleasant enough if you don’t think about it
or think about thinking or more importantly sinking
or pray to the sky to be more than blue
When Christ spread his hands to the blue
it made them red just like mine
And they carved a king from a skeleton
like his bones weren’t just his bones


John Maurer

John Maurer is a 23-year-old writer from Pittsburgh that writes fiction, poetry, and everything in-between, but his work always strives to portray that what is true is beautiful. He has been previously published in Claudius Speaks, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Thought Catalog, and more than twenty others. @JohnPMaurer

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