Me I’ve got no way
to circle my laugh out my body
I’ve got no way
to flourish from cracks in my skin
Me I’ve got no way
my fingers your bristling highlights
unless we sweep into the street
the night
in cars and preparing ourselves for screen eyes
Tag: short poems
Number one.
Get loose. Shake your shoulders out. Your shoulders fall out. Weightless.
Number two.
Breathe through yourself. Breathe to flay your lungs open.
Number three.
Poise.
Number four.
You can crack your ephemeral knuckles because you are now transcendent. Nothing touches you, not even constraints.
Never crane vertebrae around bends
Seeking end or other, elsewhere,
Meaning.
Because, it sits in wait, the twin of
A little shoeless child or a dog at
The doorway when the rest
Is desecrated by static and windy livings,
Beings, flatlining,
Dead.
Ana Celeste Poetry 