Recovery

Walk like a bird of paradise.
Rowdy hips cause the stirring eyes
pain. It goes unnoticed. Belt it
as the poppy pods well up, to
blast their kernels far. A blue
sound can’t be lost in a crowd. Sit

on a thousand-foot ledge, dangling
bare longings. You lost that knee-high
when breezes took you, a starling.
Blusters lift wisps of hair as you try
to rip that breast open, scatter drops
to melt the winds that never stop.

Jalapeno evenings fizzle
and steam in the citrus drizzle
of cumulous mops passing themselves
back now, over ruddy vistas.
You’re itching. You stoop low and delve,
and get your hands red. You’ve kissed a

wolf before; his black lips curled out
showing yellow bone splinters, stuck
there in his eely gums. So shout
jubilant songs to turn your luck.
Tuck red feathers behind your ear
and wait for pumice dust to clear.