That Skimpy Thing

Life is thin. The walk is not the talk at all. My back hunched like a bear. Claws for digging. Grubs are plentiful near the surface this time of year. The taken ingredients. Why are we here looking in the mirror. There are inside beings haunting corners under spiders dust inside cups. The old mirror showing. Walnut shells where nobody ate any. Bone fragment I will not touch my tongue to.