awke up to brown cream and lite
cant feel my foot but i know its there
first metatarsal always reminding me yknow
but it only hurts when im havin fun

up off of bed
buttnaked and the air is cold
until i close that door and i
take on the shower head exploding into a cold barrage
of empty good-mornings from my fictitious lover

showers warm now and i take my hands to my face
to wipe the rain from the night before
and i breathe
and breathe
and breathe
and breathe some more until my hairs wet and heavy

and my foot — yea its still there
i try to stand on it but the bones still bend
i havent used in weeks, strenght wont lend
my legs look like a weightlifter with a pegleg

and the bottmo is so dead
so i scraep off the death that held on to it
and its weird my foot
it comes back to life
as i peel it out from under my nails

i wiggle my toes
and take it for a stroll
down au lane
mama always said dont ruin a work of art
but mama art is art because it breathes on its own

longer strides feel so good
im pushing it again
yea i cn never stop
gotta live when you have the chance
so next ill take em out to dance

it hurts when i spin
much easier to look forward
but then thats no fun now is it?
and who lives that way nyway
you can choose and you can play
only hear what you want em to say

i want to feel it all
the bones bending
the rain falling
the shower exploding
the sunshine’s hum in the morning
when time flowed over my feet and onto the trees
or like when we went to the beach that one time



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