the man made of white sticks
stands on the fringe of town
near where the road is worn
and the crows tear up the ground
looking for hard beetles or
meaty worms. he comes at night.
we know it is a man because
of the eyes. eyes that look through
you, as if you are his now,
and always will be. odd though,
the holes in his head are empty.
Mackie says all skulls are like that,
until God puts in the jelly,
and the meaning. the man made of
white sticks stands on the fringe.
spot him, you’ll feel the twinge.