12 Little Spells (thoracic spine) - Esperanza Spalding

Twelve little wells of golden ink

Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail

Arching your back into the sand-cloud

underneath your skin arctic to equator

A pair of sympathetic ridges shift

You’ve evolved to harness

These constant eruptions

Through vascular penance

Tectonic verse flows

Riding again, again, again, again, again…

Floating a lucky heart over their palm

Casual ribs house an expanded mind

Left and right hemispheres in balance

Constant composition and

Eighty scribbles per minute

Let us flow towards that

Transfer every character that

Circulating function

flowing forward

Out the snaking

It to dipping itself in and out in intervals

Twelve little wells of golden ink

Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail

Penned in its planet 'round the craggy pole

The inner hall expands in gilded breaths

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for

Compelled to give yourself the moment you want for