Thursday, November 19, 2009

New Poem in the Series

Sarvangasana--Shoulder stand on a chair

Inside its shell, all martial
turrets, spiral points, the whelk,
soft as a tongue, slips unhindered
through the polished rose-pink
lips, while I, a creature of another
sea, head downward on
this folding chair, extend
my toes like pink-tipped
tentacles. My head is free
for once to lose its lofty
place, and pillowed
on the floor, looks only
inwards at the chest, hands
lightly grasping the back bar.


Lou said...

Mysterious, especially the first three lines. I love how each poem takes its own shape and meaning.

Robbi said...

Thanks Lou. I worry that they are too much the same.