A Poem on Yoga

Moving quiet from down dog
Into flying truncated lotus
The flower breaths lotus hot fog
Upon the teacher of loose hamstrings.

Breathing quiet oxygen flows
From her taut torso glancing his face,
Asking for what he knows,
The smiling words answer

Feel the rhythm of the ancients
In the inner pelvis complex
Circling the Indian subcontinent
Relative to your shoulder axis
Let’s talk after class

The dance of that great dance
Circles until after class.
This girl behind me thinks my feet smell.
FML.

How do yoga and pert plus compliment eachother?

The best thing about yoga is
No stretching after class.
Just talking about how my feet smelled.

Breathe.

 

Damnit.

 

—-Orin Moore

Humans are Highly Variable Creatures

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