In Res Medias. . .

that tension
in your face

and slake
the grip
that wants to hold
some unseen weight,

and has done so
since some bygone,
unremembered date,

encrypted in
the diamond twist
of that oh too helpful
muscle fiber fist,

which centers
on the place
you’d drape your cape,

the flesh between your shoulder blades
in stretch most lean
and meatiest,

and is known
by learned ones
in matters healthful,
as the twin muscles superficial
your trapezius.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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