The way my neck betrays me.
Shoulders and morals.
Stand up straight, the blood flows quicker.
Your knees are as your will, easily bent.
And your hips can´t turn much...
you´re afraid to dance.
See it by the way you sit.
Your many angles, crossed legs or supporting elbows.
You´re body is such a puzzle, kind of like this life so many sell formulas for.
Your posture neither prostrate nor vertical.
As stable as your moods are.
kick it out, though the cramps stick when you´re stuck.
Life has to make sense about as much as poetry has to rhyme.
Beautiful rules give the superficial people platitudes to cushion their fragile spines.
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