my shoulders sag, rhythmically. one step, two step, slow and lumbering; an eternity seems to pass as I slump decrepitly across the maplewood floor. i'm old and ailing. halfway there I perk up and jump 6 times, jerking my elbows and fingers from right angles to straight lines in rapid succession. my knees touch my ribcage as it expands and contracts on each ascent and descent into space, respectively. i'm young and excited. i settle into a relaxed pace and slowly turn to gaze down at my right arm as it twitches furiously every which way. I'm wise and content with life's often apoplectic uncertainties. you enter and we settle into an intertwining dance of submission and resistance, tailored to the call and response of our exhales and inhales. it's parlously vulnerable and directionless.
words often seem like those trendy new feathers that everyone strings in their hair. the body can tell so many stories.
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