Cocaine Sunset

Lana Bella

For two days, sky rained pebbles
across her face like vitae felled
down asphalt limbs, splintered
blue lips fearing every impossible
claim that grazed of wolves’ grin
and ravens’ feathers.

Rasped by roaches and flies and
vaporous middle, somewhere in
the cold, long tails of sky’s mouth-
drum wrecked her like an extra rib,
astride the ever-shifting plane of
cobalt smoke gone grey.

Between these empty, rustling
hours, her cocaine-sunset steps
massaged the frosted toes before
leap, weight like horse hooves,
ruddered the slim-line currents
in shredded pennants of light,
where cicadas milled and hushed
by thin and sticky mist.