shoes – other animals

and I freeze no matter how fancy the pen or the whisky it’s all the same my lost shoes they say this winter the victims will write history

at the end of the day there is little appetite for making music still we feel we must take a chance and ask who would make shoes that are so uncomfortable

when we meet at which cafe or museum shop
I will be all smiles and jokes but looking
left and right too often as though some shadow
but what are you watching these days what post
made you rage? this black mud around my feet
never mind I see your shoes are dark as well
but why don’t we talk about dessert instead
of the world war of the week or even
this flattening heat you say you saw something
that reminded you of something and something
something

so leaves a ghost
still hungry that refuses to tip

silence in
the dark green
leaves brewed a
dozen times
still tasty
unlike the
resin like
the past I
need to clean
off my shoe
so why not
go into
the grey sky
grab cloudfulls
of what you
want and stay

it should be more than cotton
candy though I lack
a recipe my hands have just
this tiny pen filled with
latency and the ladder is rotten

how many more nights

the sun bobs up and down
I look the other way that burning
you say it’s the weekend well why
not warp the mirror a little more

I can’t remember
why I entered this race

and I want to go to war with
each slender shadow

my feet must be cut from my shoes as soon

as the sun returns some color to those skulls

from under a rock hear me sing and walk on

back from vacation my shoes too small