Run down Door handle mountain.
What am I but a climber.
All the way back down Curupira style.
Backward legs gloating.
Showing off and heavy breathing growing.
Moving inward and outward.
Further down the door handle.
Mountain saved no views for me.
So I skipped down the beast alternatively,
Door handle shaking in the knee.
As other hikers look on in horror.
Slipping curupira backwards.
What a monster inside me screaming to get out.
All backward and nasty from the mist freeze.
Mist flowing up and down mountain round,
breeze amused inside and out of altitude trees.
I jog backward in that groove,
Rhythm, shadow, speed.
Beats the wind,
beats the looming rocks.
The root of the mountain can feel the abnromal foot falls.
Ankles and knees tighten on the concrete pavers.
Clapping smile of a mist dancing Curupira.
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