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