Inflation further decreases my value.
Bones set in place, built to carry
not meant to bend.
So they shatter,
not meant to mend,
undone by the mortar and pestle
of gravity.
Arrowheads of calcium--
lodged in meaty fiber.
We are inefficient creatures,
yet to make our fourteenth lap around the sun.
Plato would mark us unfinished
unfit and unfixable.
It takes so long for them to heal.
No stitch makes us whole again.
This is our destiny. Only left to break.
Human beings, born to be brittle.
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