Inches - 20150924

Yoga mat buttocks thighs pressed to floor legs extending toes pointed to ceiling

Soles as if flush to the opposing wall

Back elongated skyward preparing to lie flat abdomen stretching

As arms flow like Chimpanzee palm tree poles to grip phalanges over metatarsals

Rounding center of hand over the balls of feet

The ramifications of height are obvious in the subtraction

Length arms surpass legs allowing body to grip into an ellipse 

Bowing to the crepuscular twilight snaking through the studio window

I think of the inch apologized for in the angles of kissing to posture

That slight bit of elevation females seem to crave like a wedge of moon

Into a pitch bedroom to see the outline of silhouette rather than a stranger

To infirm a dearness to the physicality as if one is protected even when horizontal

I think of eight years old on a bicycle teeth slamming into lumber protruding

From the bay of a pickup truck camouflaged before the hair of a willow tree

The mathematics of dental into wood rather than jugular neck colliding into paralysis

Or death crushed trachea; there is godliness to explain my legs in the mathematics

As an atheist I wonder bowing to that setting sun

The mat rolled out positioning breath and movement

The ability to yogi toe-lock balance and stretch in a functionally compacted femur

Tailor-made to hold like a waiter’s plate ready to serve what I have stepped on back to god

To shine this dirt black pressed mallet foot for his maw to suck like a fetishist

For spectators to marvel at the glittering shards of glass and sticky shrapnel

Heart bending as chest turns to the stars for embrace in this contest between something and nothing

A junkyard of constellations stranded and wished too many times burnt out

So that when a grown man looks at sunset creeping through the window pane

There is a daring salvo to hope again like a flare gun with one flare left in his life shot

Knowing there is only darkness after this and time, the limited illusion spinning so that eyes closed

In some sort of faith that projection devices can operate like plants if one lets go

Of the difference between assuming and dreaming as if one had control of the later

That if everything is invested to pull that trigger and launch that red beaming beacon into the cosmos

To be noticed to state who one is, to say I am here, I am ready to be looked at