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I am bookish.

The pages of my body are well-loved, well-used, strong

Muscle engages

I gracefully reach my fingertips up and into the corner, elongating from the shoulder

The soles of my feet are together

I entreat them, “Stay”

My hips resist opening; I relax and work to pull the fascia holding them toward the earth

Opening my heart, twisting and turning and rotating my spine

Sculpture, art

Creating heat, vowing flexibility, breaking the bindings

Where soul and flesh meet

Ensuring fidelity to the framework while unjamming the fusion,

Loosening the grip, wishing for unconstrained edges,

smooth messages

It is a learning curve for my body,

A leaning swerve



I am cautious, and a bit reverent,

Like the first time one opens a newly published book… not too wide… slowly…

Always afraid to be the first one to break the binding,


 the faintest creak of new life erupting from the center

Robbing the spine of its virginal unbrokenness

It is open

Knowing that it must give in and give out and give life and give words and give insight and hope


I exist in the margins




                                          A. Locke 2013