Fever
Why do you roost on my head, Hen?
Lower your big bottom like a bell,
smother my face in vacuum and feathered clapper,
stand up, shake crud, strut in place
in my right eye, scratching
at the waste of retina, peck
my molars–
I can’t see your dumb bright blink,
your red wobble,
here in the darkness, without
a mirror,
even as you shift position, rock
bulk, and I curl up tight
and cold, everything cracking.
*******************************
Not feeling up to scratch. May link to dVerse Poets Pub OLN. May just crawl into a hole instead.
PS – posted pic from iPhone and I think it is sometimes very large, so if you want to see it, just click on it. k.
ManicDDaily 
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