Skin, or: Bones

What’s the connection between collaborative published poetry and (the purpose of this blog) not stepping in shit??? I believe creative writing makes us pause between lines. Poetry invokes rhythm, haikus consist of 17 syllables. In the “in betweens” of what “NOT” to do, I won’t be mapping out next steps for anyone. Particularly since I can’t dance. I will, however, play a little, and poetry is how I play. Check out “The Skeptic’s Kaddish” if this way of creating and connecting means something to you.

The Skeptic's Kaddish 🇮🇱

Poetry Partners #27

‘Skin in the Game’ by Audrey Duff of ‘Stopping Schadenfreude’

It's the horses' sweaty skin
that Derby owners claim.
Warren Buffet’s first deal,
not much skin in that game.
Pigs weren’t so lucky in games,
Their bladders stretched and stuffed,
tossed and bound,
for four quarters and a hundred yards.
That’s what happens if you’re smart.
Skin is just money with nerves.
He says I don’t have any.
I say I know I’ve got skin
Because I’ve got scars.
But he’s right about my nerve.

A poem by ben Alexander of ‘The Skeptic’s Kaddish’

It's the horse's rigid bones our children use in art projects. The image sticks like a bone in my throat. We get processed at bone factories; lame stallions meet their ends at the knacker's. Benjamin the donkey didn't horse around when his best friend was sold off for a case…

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