…and then I heard
“ring of bone” where
ring is what a
bell does
Lew Welsh, Ring of Bone, Collected Poems 1950-1971

Down to the Bone
Jim Culleny

If I could un-ring certain bells and un-wind time I
would, but can’t, so instead, I’ll just ride this bucket of
bones till the wheels fly off; till ball-joints grind and
drop from sockets; till this xylophone of ribs riffs the
music of the spheres; until my funny bone tells it’s last
joke; till my shoulder blades cleave the universe in two
and find the nut within; until I’m hipper than both hips
and happier; till I’m savvy at last, slicker than elbow
grease, and mute as a smart metatarsal; until I’m wiser
than a thought-stuffed skull; until I knee-cap my inner
sonofabitch to stop his useless jawin’ so I can hear one
clear day resound off tiny anvils and ride the lyrical
looped song of a backyard bird round Lew Welch’s
ring of bone. Instead…

I’ll just splint what needs splinting right here at home.