Phantom Limb - Andrei F. Andreescu

The letters were cold with a metallic gloss 

The gloss spread on bones, bringing out the marrow 

They shine, as gloss turns to glass and light into transparency 

They are almost see-through, damned be the flesh that covers them!

Funny thing when you have an audience to delight, but no stage upon which to portray such fragility

Embracing the bones' lack of fibre, their crystallization and their smoky contour

As parts of them turn shady whilst others fade into oblivion of pale 

They crack musically one by one as the body succumbs to injury 

They are in dire need of orchestration 

Does anyone here tonight, by any means, play the triangle?