the sound of scraping
a spoon in a bowl
like when the ice cream is gone
or we’ve run out of guacamole
but we still have chips
[i’ll eat it off my fingers
if i run out of chips
but chips are so dry if the guac is gone]
where where where
from where does that scraping
sound emanate
bone on bone in the hip
the elbow
the teeth grinding
jaw popping
knuckles straining
and trailing on concrete
like the ape-man we are
it’s just
why does it have to sound like
an edgeless knife
dragged across a desiccated thigh bone
Words and Feathers 
This poem is very well sculpted with peculiar imagery 🙂 love it
Whoa. My bones rattled and scraped reading your masterpiece! You are a bone whisperer, Crow.
~PR
Whispering is the best. Perfect for secrets. 😀
I haven’t decided if I’d like your poem to be about knuckles rubbing against concrete or someone dragging a bag of bones across the floor. What fun!!
They could be playing dice with knuckle bones.
That’s right! LOL. That sounds like a lot of fun!! Then later, they can have a knuckle sandwich 🙂
Sounds painful but filling. Open faced. With grave-y.
Ha! And a Bloody Mary.