Rip the mussels from their shells while I husk corn and shell peas.
A garlic clove, crushed with a knife’s handle, teases out its aroma.
The inoculation of a spinning dervish
who seeks the antipodal position of the divine.
Diabolical twirling in this ongoing energetic exchange between universe and organism.
En pointe is En garde.
The evokation of my exhalation diffuses and diffracts into atmosphere.
The invokation of my inhalation converges energy from
not only above, but also below.
The cyclone of the Void rampages through my celiac plexus.
The center of the eye of the storm is so motionless.
It crystallizes, dynamicizes, galvanizes,
before radiating into fibers of the nerves strewn along my
when, just in the nick of time,
the cordon of my spine sucks
the ambient and I find
a respite in equilibrium.
The word Apologetics springs to mind.
A tangent unfurling
I feel it; but, I am not sorry