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.

2 comments:

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.