Rejected thrice. Unwanted poetry

A place for poems rejected by the sane world, now having found a home, can talk gently to you.

Yoga problems

Tell me to breathe, I breathe.
Remind me why, with kindly eyes
as I'm laid out an oddly angular
counter to a simple flat floor,
amply tired, a crab shucked from
scabbed shell and left misshapen.

I am reminded constantly to breathe
as I breathe with lungs from the
first fish to leave prehistoric seas.
As left leg surrenders all its land
to rebellious stone hips, its angry
right vaudeville partner cries out
for Tiny Tim's crutch, to hell with
with pudding and his sad demise.

Both eyes rolling with uncertainty
catch a glimpse of the big bang and
move with slow terror toward an
oxygen less world where plants
have not yet imagined green.

Quite the scene, unfolding from
pigeon pose, myself a xenomorph alien
going toe to toe with Sigourney Weaver's
mat-squashed nose, airlock hissing from
fear. Telling age and the clock to get
the hell away from me, you noon bitch.