My soles ache.
the bank account’s runnin’ on fumes.
My soles ache.
set in a thumpin’ bass guitar, distorted beyond recognition,
kick up the drum machine.
I’m ridin’ in the fog, Mississippi side, lookin’ at those signs in the middle distance where they ain’t gone, but the lines are blurrin’, ‘n you can just see ’em clutchin’, clutchin’ to stay this side of that abyss. To mean.
I don’t–
I don’t know what to do.
My soles ache.
Wish it was enough to sit here peddlin’ diction like them San-Fran typists sittin’ streetside, “Poems, any subject, name your price” written in sharpie on cardboard. Wish it were the gettin’ by.
Wish it was enough.
soles ache.
one of the women I love,
she’s got these beautiful eyes, starbursts of blue surrounded in pale green, with specks of brown.
there ain’t metaphors for how beautiful they are,
or the time I spent starin’ into them.
‘n I kept on for seein’ them in one more sunrise.
my soles ache,
i don’t–
the bank’s runnin’ on fumes,
‘n the schtick ain’t sellin’,
my soles ache.
if i rest, i’m sorry.
I want to be angry,
to be fire and action and stubborn.
I’m just so tired that I don’t–
I don’t know what to do.
Life, huh?
