It’s time for a little something different.
Sometimes poetry just has a way of expressing an experience better than prose. What do you think?
I watch the falling flakes today as if
in a movie
frame by frame
the huge swirling globes not
falling, but suspended
at different intervals in space until,
they run out of space.
yesterday, in the middle of a floor pose,
heal extended to ceiling,
to blotched fluorescent light, to
strand of cobweb dangling
from the stippled water-stained tiles,
my body stretched through space,
for a moment, stretched out of the dream.
once wrung so taught,
a wet cloth twisted.
now softening, untwisting
into a heap
no longer wrought with the weight of things
a moveable mass
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