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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Tight Spaces I wriggle through the tight spaces, moving between these fussy wise cracks, all in forward motion, my forward goal, moving towards a light beyond, way up ahead. A dimming glow, like a watery eye, lubricating and easing my movement, creates a viable, mercuriai, rhythmic pulse, inching ahead, around and about and through. Oh, these god-awful restricting spaces, these furious fissures, these viral veins of transit, all full of twist and turn, all jumbled up, all cramping. The odor in this tepid din is one of aged musty moldy funk, my twitching eyes, my heavy breath, my chest expanding, breathing, through the yogic cure of stretch and release, I release. Oh the pain in renewal, the ambition, it’s longing sighs alight, clear through into my head, invading my core to my out stretched toes, the wriggling motions do transmit waves of sensuous ciphers, my straightened back charging to the crowning crown. The light, oh, that dim light, that hollow orb, the rays of dust backlit and starlike, heavenly cloud of ash and shadow beckon; floating as a holiday parade in slow motion as if marching bands were moving asymmetrically, seemingly chaotic, at random, cacophonous, atonal, obliterated, a system of god-like symmetry in flux and flexing, a multiverse of star clusters, clustering, fanning-out into oblivion and its surrounding vicinities, neighborhoods of gaseous clouds chatting, straddling the outskirts, the farthest margins away; of hemispheres and their continents, of space and its off-spring, orbiting, careening, bounding, all which way, any way, together, family like in its seeming disfunctions, outward. There’s an itch at my back, unreachable easily, irritating, annoying, I’m going to let it be, it’s too much work to assuage, forward motion, my forward goal, moving inexorably, the light ahead awaits in patience, just beyond the next obstacle.
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