When There's Nothing Left

2 arms,
each in the 90 degree position,
in the 90 degree heat,
ranging of motion,
and in motion.

Faster and faster and faster.

Sweat droplets peddle from the back of shoulders toward one another,
progressing like a flip book they join and race down the spine together.

The heart's appetite starves for blood,
wanting it more and more,
slowly and quickly,
struggling,
stealing it using those powerful engines attached to the hips
from that

damned, neurotic bobble head,
that rabbid barking dog that won't turn itself off,
that won't shut up or shut off,
that despises boredom and the duldrums of nothingness,
that hates itself for holding the other parts of the machine back,
that won't stop worrying and planning and thinking and stifling action.
Creating dreams and restraining the physical body of making those dreams actuality.
Where do the subconscious and the conscious marry? Where do they divorce? Why can't they just be friends?

And round and round and round the questions spin around
the mind's kinetic race track.

Just be placid.
Like the nothingness of an evening lake in those Georgia summers.

As the lungs expand and contract and pulse and yearn.
Faster and Faster.

The blood drains away,
withering,
from the top,
to the bottom.

The body teams together with all its parts.
Functioning in complete harmony,
like a perfect wave, rising steadily,
until eventually,
it collapses.

The fire is out.
Just the white flag of smoke.

And when there's nothing left
you sit there,
you lay there,
on the ground,
the green grass,
the blue sky,
the black sky,
the clouds,
the stars,
the sun,
the moon.
You sit there.
With that 'been-there, done-that' smirk,
eye lids lazy,
red-face and flush,
shoulders and legs that moved so intensely, so aggravated, with purpose,
now slouch and droop and fall in line with gravity,
because the light has finally been shut off for a few minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QtNSJLkurk -- and you are in the moment.