I sat with the lid down on the toilet
In Baddha Konasana with orange butterflies
Beating their wings as they flew from my sacrum
Their thoraces conducting the orchestra
The tonic somewhere between 200 and 400 hertz
I looked forward and saw myself backwards
Through the mirror that wasn't there showing
A hypotenuse binding my legs pointing at the sky
Long like man's, long like boy's
And I cried "I don't know who I am"
When I age I grow younger
My crooked intellect accuses me of folly
As if sorrows hath not flown from stars
Can she'st bathe me in her blinking lights?
Today I am so young I must age
Where do you move when what you're moving from is yourself?
Did I trust my spirit to walk down its paths
That it may wander without becoming lost in wandering for the sake of wandering?
Had I done just that: no, that I walked one path until it no longer became a path
That I became sick and old by staying young