ribbons

my contortionist ways
not of body
but mind
weave like ribbons
in the basket
of masterpiece.
twisting
reaching
controlling
the woven threads
holding me
together
and apart.
one reaches
from the back of my throat
to the squish
of my gut.
one tangles
between my mess of caging
engaging
raging
ribs.
both cross
perpendicular
to the other
one of a different thread
to the other.