Roll me out, roll me over,
roll the roiling, roll me down.
Roll all over ’til there’s nothing.
Nothing but rolled red resting.
Pour me out, spilling,
filling,
falling fevered felt.
Where else?
What else?
Seeping into infinity,
every inch,
every stitch of me spilling.
What more?
Why not?
Is there nothing more but more
of this same spilling, filling,
my river overflowing,
flooding the banks?
As I spill, every inch of me fills
built, building, growing in, beyond
the pouring out,
the falling felt, the seep…
every inch, every stitch weaving
newness ’round the next roll
roll
roll me out…
jruth kelly © 2/4/04 and 2009
J. Ruth Kelly 
This is wonderful.
Definately to be read out loud
with passion!