a strange attractor,
the tendency of the minute
vibrancy of charges to wander,
slithering the circumference like
a multitude of saboteurs with no will.
what do i decide
of the fire in my belly
that urgently desires to be heard?
it is my choice to unravel the breath
that moves and folds the spherical vortex.
and as i
flick a finger
against the pendulum,
the girl who once danced,
mindful of the delicate blushing
within the rippling
motoric thighs of a woman
with power to counter the spin
in every sinuous swing of her hip.
© M.G. Iannucci 2017