Here is a little writing treat for you guys. Somewhere along the passing of the past week I got this image of bones in my head and here is what came out.
My Bones are Dry
by Robert Garbin
My bones are dry. Time hollows them beyond memory of flesh. They groan with the sound of their splintering, while wind whistles through their brittle façades. Flakes flow away like accumulated dust disturbed by distant forces. Dissolution awaits my coming. My bones are dry.
As with anything I write, this may get tweaked yet, but the idea is there.