My Body Remembers

Some drafts I write just to play with images that make me happy. They almost never become finished poems. They exist, I think, as ways to clear the blocks of logic so I can get to more and more of the connections that drive creativity. Today’s draft is one of those.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedMy body remembers this place with fierce abandon,and the memory of the body has no need for decorum. It belches at funerals and farts in the middle of church. It rolls in the dirt wearing its best dress,licks its fingers at a Michelin-star restaurant. It ignores the five second rule and eats off the ground.It strips down to its bones and climbs under tree roots,giggling at the passing feet of strangers.