Hours of salt and sores and the light never glows green

Till from head to toe she's rolled into one big charley horse

But still never reading a stop sign

Molding into one properly shaped muscle

That stretches and contracts

Equally holding on and letting go

Every toe spinning the satin shoe that surrounds it

Rolling through every wrinkle and

Holding an elephant on its shoulders

Eventually metamorphosing skin to ragged satin itself

"Head" titles the book to which pictures are added every day

Pictures of contortion, pictures of perfection

Leading up the stairs

Showing cream how to become play dough

A map directing down the yellow brick road that will come close,

But never reach Oz.