bogey yogi

The room was hot, suffocatingly hot!

No ventilation in the building?! grumbled the man

As he drumbled into Striking Scorpion pose.

Straightening his back he shrank with one leg outstretched:

A tail ready to arch over and bite him with his foot,

The heat was unbearable!

Beads of sweat dripped from his head to toes,

It’s sweltering in here, he muttered,

An inferno, a fiery hell!

The instructor guided them into Upward Cactus,

“Good good,” she encouraged, “Move from the hairs out!

Shoot for the stars, that’s it!”

Vile I say, the man complained.

Why in the world did I sign up for Desert Therapy?

Must’ve been out of my mind!

That’s what bankrupcy’ll do to you, he mused,

Descilescent thoughts coming and going;

He continued to twist, bend, plank,

Stretch; to the outer reaches of the galaxy

Touching the full spectrum of possibility

Until finally

He was

Spent.

The room shrank

The room stank

He lay prone upon the floor

Unresisting

Eyes staring unseeing

At the ceiling above.

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Your peace . . .

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