by marybeth
I need more poetry
and less hierarchies.
I need more snow days
and less evening news.
I long for the sound of a pond lapping
as if she were the one
drinking herself in
and I was
pouring my self out.
I need less food
and a long, slow stretch
where fingertips reach
toward something unreachable
as the belly and spine
pull deliciously taunt
with divine elongation.
I want to hold that posture
like the red cat
in her big yawn
and then lick my loins
cleansing every extremity
where the world
has touched me.
I need to feel holy.
I want to FEEL holy.
Me ow, ow, ow.