Reasons

Shells find reasons to twist.
The horns on bighorn sheep find reasons to curl.
Why then can’t I have a reason?
I twist too, I curl until the top of my head scrapes the ground.
I’m an upside-down U, a rainbow, a pouty mouth.
But every moment since my youth, I stretched my vertebrae straight for the stars.
Where is my reason?
My head is not brushed by supernovae, it is dragging where worms can wriggle into my nostrils.
Dirt smells like dirt.
Does space have a smell?
My reason wants to know, but for some reason I twist, instead.