body languish

if my arms are crossed, and i slouch, use your greater eye
to feel my state of disrepair, as i retire
back to a fetal position reserved for grown punching bags.
if i stroke my chin thoughtfully,
there is an ingrown thought curling back home like a willow,
weeping. when i collapse, don't read more into
that form of speech than a dance of chaos untranslated
as yet. my middle finger, and my pointer finger,
and my thumb all hitch rides when taken as significant,
alone. if my tongue's body language is tied,
you are the gordian knot, sweeping over teeth
ground smooth by grains and adding to smile wrinkles.
when my arms are crossed, and i hug myself
apart, it takes nerves missing to not feel you,
and it takes heart to let go. if i were strong,
i'd slouch straight into a lie, and carry earth's message
in countenance clothed in bliss. if i were any more human,
the animal of myself would shed or molt,
spin a cocoon to hide the scaffolding of a work in progress.
if it takes a hand under flowing water
to prime desert flowers once a century, sense blooms.



portland, oregon
5-7-16