Ever get uncomfortable
with how
your spine shifts
and bends against the back
of hardwood panels
or bars
straight-laced through
boards
set to hold you?
The slither of
scoliosis flowing its
serpentine coil, contrary
to popular notions of posture,
seems to loom.
Are your vertebrae
aligned like
textbook skeletons
diagrammed in
a pristine, sterile death?
Like a bust bearing
standard
of classic cylindrical stone,
alabaster, your column rises
never quite at
right-angle to ground or sky;
your awkward bone-knobbed tower,
bastion of nerves,
bundles its twists
around
the orbit of your soul.
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