Phantom Limb - Andrei F. Andreescu
The letters were cold with a metallic gloss
The gloss spread on bones, bringing out the marrow
They shine, as gloss turns to glass and light into transparency
They are almost see-through, damned be the flesh that covers them!
Funny thing when you have an audience to delight, but no stage upon which to portray such fragility
Embracing the bones' lack of fibre, their crystallization and their smoky contour
As parts of them turn shady whilst others fade into oblivion of pale
They crack musically one by one as the body succumbs to injury
They are in dire need of orchestration
Does anyone here tonight, by any means, play the triangle?