’twas brillig there in Bikram land
Hot and humid, I manned the mat,
streached and strung — out like a band,
wrecked with the wet of overwhelmed glands and that
constant voice of calm command.
Droning, intoning a vicious chant of
“Lock the knees, Lock the knees, Lock the knees.”
Oh, please, the window… the breeze!
Have you have borne it, foot in hand,
grabbed your elbows opposite,
squeezed the knees and wheezed?