my bones won't let me dance

My bones won’t let me dance.

My passionate illustration of a song becomes suspended

amidst organs and ribs.

I try to rip free as I

transform

spun out, arms out

around a center beat

that I can’t quite swallow.

If I could really dance

it would be a blissful fall

into a pure emotion

expressed by the body

in an ensō aloud.

But instead I’m left to pull and yank

climb and tumble

throw and drop

right up next to the sun.

I want to drift eternally

at the highest speeds

around the core

but I can’t even revolve right.

I misstep

My mind and body both retreat

and my movements turn cold.

I lose the melody

And my stresses skip around my ankles . . .

I wobble.

I can breathe deep, and climb back to the

warm aura,

I can turn, dilate, and collapse

I can

flow and stomp

and scream

but

No matter how hard I try,

my bones won’t let me truly dance.