gravity
Dancing without gravity,
swimshimmy birdflap backflip wild,
would be flying fine,
but gravid is the corpus.
So work the sex, skirting vulgarity.
Work the arms, denying the armature.
Work the legs, grinding into the rhythm
as a lover.
Flirt, flail, fight gravitas,
weight we can't escape,
but defy,
gyroscopic inside
our birdcage of bones.
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About Me
Wraitchel
I have a BA in Art from a good private college. I am originally from the South. I have three children. I am married.
View my complete profile
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Fabric
Glimmer-threaded,
green-feathered
grandfather hemlock,
dewfingers drip
a thousand trembling orbs,
each a gold-green crystal inverse,
an inverted snow-globe shrine,
star-hearted foci of silence.
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