The rhapsody of yawn

There is an impending spellbind,

rising up from within.

It may come from living

in the unevenness of life’s

stimulations and responses,

from the savage activity of metabolism,

to the draining burden of expectations.

Nature extols a tension

and extracts a stress as consequence

in taxing the body

at its own consciousness.

Under the mother ship of gravity

and the grand collage of culture

together with peer group and circumstance

and the bafflement of relative experience

together with dodging the downsides

of comparative truth and inner self-diatribes,

there invisibly lies an electrical lacework

across the physical body’s fluidity

of subtle activity.

All in praise of extenuating self-circumstance.

And within this ocean,

these rivers of electrical meridians pass

as a continuous momentum

of reordering the etheric body

into the subtle shape shifting of self.

This process attempts to survive

the onslaughts of coffee,

the lack of sleep, deadlines,

appropriations of self-character in action,

details and the endurances

of physical discomforts,

the inattention to healthy habits,

the lack of fruitful tears and deep breathing,

inadequacies of laughter,

as well as insufficient cardio exercise.

A payment is extracted for this through time.

But there is a camouflage

to all these elements co-mingling,

yet there comes a yielding time

from the depths within oneself.

And it comes in the form of a spellbind.

Like a disabled ship’s final sink

into an ocean of abound,

a precipitous and rewarding yawn does come.

It comes on like that final spin of fluids

washing over the last tip’s departure

of the upturned hull.

There is no more the fanfare

of buoyancy or surface resistance,

no more the rendering of unwavering denial.

Submission rears itself

in an upward formalized,

almost sword swallowing, act.

Eyes defocalizing towards a shimmering.

Jaws mightily tremble in a flex.

There is a quivering from the back of the mouth,

possibly pronouncing an elegance spritz

of fluids from below the high arching tongue.

This act reaches abnormally far

towards some unified discharge of tension

and then, in a downward repose,

the rest of the torso follows

into an out-breath discharge.

The contoured surfaces of the face and neck are then beckoned by gravity

spreading the rumor of relaxation downward

in waves of yawn after yawn.

The top of the eyelids would tell you,

It feels like it is post crying.

There is a trickledown onto the rest of the body.

All of this is then smothered by overt gestures

of personalized behavioral response.

A yawn is a subtle cosmic storm.

It is for the purpose

of rebalancing the body’s electrical circuitry.

And it essentially ends

in this rhapsody’s final note

at the very tip of the tongue.