Neon Bones

The bones were the first part 

of the body to glow. A slight

shimmer, a wink of wickedness

ushering in cure and curse. 

Under trembling skin and 

smooth tendons, tentacles of life

grew and gripped the ragged 

remains, now born anew. 

Glimmering.

“Be careful how you breathe,”

hushed tones warn. Ashen air 

fuels hatred; wind seeks

vengeance. Water is venom

and fire is no longer the elixir 

of faith. Raw. Ruined.

Glimmering.

The eyes were the last 

organs to radiate. Once 

that luminescence shone,

pupils fixed and faded, 

the bodies were brought

to the save-yards, buried

thick, in uranium soil.

Glimmering.

“You’ve spoiled it,

look at the sky,” 

the digger bows

to the black hole

where the blue

used to be.