nedovtipa
“I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.”
The Throat of the Flower
Reckless heat that ambles on, courting desire
I will learn to lean back before leaping forward
the balance at the heels keeps me bound to
the earth that spit me up eons ago. I was made of mud
when I arrived. The spirit seeks heat to make a mask.
I taught my legs to run, to break free of the weight of
that filth. Mud, what a word- it even sounds slow!
The ocean was born of its desire to rinse me.
The waves greet my toes, shins, thighs, navel, breasts,
lips, nose, eyes. I open my palms and wash the crevasse
until I glow like the new moon. My duty is to poke holes
in the hardness, to crack the muck that stifles the throat of the
flower. Breathe; I hear the seashells sing. Little slimy things live
inside those containers and I will find a home for mySelf too.
Photo source.
