Pretty bird, pretty bird
soar either way across the street
or hum loud enough above the music
and thick tinnitus
to start this poem forthright
There are two parks
within one mile from home
and I have walked them
3,500 times or so
since returning
I try to keep
my obsessive compulsions
framed
in a positive light
soft as a feather
so I can stay flighty
and continue dancing
as these bones crumble
The reason I hesitate to speak about
my own suffering
is because I know everyone else
has their own
bouts with the world
to contend with
I lick my wounds in the woods
and rub coconut oil in both eyes
God, you know
the burn feels good
but saps and salves are better