Human Instrument

The stage doesn’t feel
The ballerina’s race of ribbons
Nor does it sit
In the cradle
Of swollen feet
For the cat strings weep
For lacquered soles
To drop
The ripples of rhythm
In the stretch of tendons
That spool the ooze
Of an elongated line
Acquainting the pace
To the slips of salt
Swan backs
While the crowd maintains
Craned necks
To change the belief in sight
Before the snap
Of the human instrument

I am currently a creative writing student at New Hampshire Institute of Art. I write both poetry and prose. Poetry is more my strong suit. A lot of my poetry is free verse and focuses on the topic of nature.

Last updated April 17, 2015