what is this yearning? to feel the constant twirl of our turning to angle the head, resting chin to shoulder, wedging itself into place like a candle to it's holder motioning backwards, resisting all forward
where our form turns from flesh to steel as we wrap our stories onto the rotating prayer wheel mimicking VHS tapes and twisting our frames to rewind the spell of time to undo scripture laid in stone becoming a one man time machine freak show. to dwell in the days of yore and tell yourself … "its all been done before"
where we become the whirling dervish head angled aside like a curious sun dial clock arms resting in the air on the great invisible rock or maybe holding afloat the force of the celestial spheres, a battalion of Atlas' drenched in marbled white cloth stirring in a *** of dance turned to trance into some chaotic mystery broth.
where we become the lazy susan who just found her running gear wedged on the cluttered bookshelf like added day to leap year. and we wonder what we have become what concoction have we drunk? thats spun us dreideling from under the rug of normalcy.
this potion of feet lifting and descending -- a mad mans dance -- always going and never arriving until we no longer know where "I" begins or ends until time no longer knows which way to bend and our feet become entangled below in a rapid fire dance of devotion between course ground and sweet motion