deepundergroundpoetry.com
YOGANOYOGA
The grave is deep enough
Time to stop digging
Throw yourself in
And walk away
betrayed humiliated humility breathe
I was glad to have died
One dinner jacket moth eaten
One pullover a sweater
Second hand genes
A jumble sale of selves
Used
No longer fit
One gale will steal these blooms
And tears of gratitude
A smile of comprehension
There are no dramas
No guilt or innocence
In yoga there is only doing
And when you fall
You repeat the posture and hold
A swan span from the lake
A right foot on my thigh
Feels like your hand touching me
The whistle in my nose
Like the wind through the window
And that throat swallow
A swan song heralding a cold winter's end
Time to stop digging
Throw yourself in
And walk away
betrayed humiliated humility breathe
I was glad to have died
One dinner jacket moth eaten
One pullover a sweater
Second hand genes
A jumble sale of selves
Used
No longer fit
One gale will steal these blooms
And tears of gratitude
A smile of comprehension
There are no dramas
No guilt or innocence
In yoga there is only doing
And when you fall
You repeat the posture and hold
A swan span from the lake
A right foot on my thigh
Feels like your hand touching me
The whistle in my nose
Like the wind through the window
And that throat swallow
A swan song heralding a cold winter's end
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