wb :

of spinning air from lungs
under heated, hell-bent
sunlight; feverishly, comically
practising an extremely distant
cousin of ballet -

is being rattled, inexorably
in a little bus; watching from
the white fence the others
giving themselves up to the god of running;
hoarse from a sudden typhoon
of knowing -

those days turning into nights,
silhouetted against stadium lights;
compelled by dreams of far-off
drums (those beating now),
heartbeats being propelled forwards
unable to stop.

Labels: poetry