down in a hole down in a deep dark hole
riding the course and waiting for dinner
counting the beans stirring the rice
crying for humanity
the fall of strength for goodwill
hunting for stature and humor
free wheeling and free of suspicion
a chief ingredient nestled between parts
with front door shut and back door too
cooked but still human
followed by absorption
sewn by maybe somebody's mother
and lugging the scent by torso
separated from heart
and waiting to be rejoined at the mouth
the day
held only by paper.
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks
another urikshansana
stretched up over the roof
the pelvis open
raising my chest to the sky
round round want to go around
want to read the final pages
read by the little red bird
wind comes and goes
and so long so, the story unfolds.
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