after a bad day

It’s nearly beyond eyesight,
a dotted line
of fifty birds, maybe more,
shape shifting in the sky.

My home is my body. My body is my home.
(but the flower stems are doubled up and dry.)
I set a song to loop and let my limbs go.
There’s a rock in my stomach and
dancing throws it about.
The more I toss my arms
the more I twist around,
the more I wear it out.
The song repeats itself, and I follow.
I try out old routines
from when I was a child
and let the music move me.
Feeling the bass in my bones;
dancing in the dark.
Blood rush. Pores sweat.

Light headed.
Then, light.


material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture
material culture