FEETS

(as in "Feets don't fail me now!")

Your feet
     toe-jammed funky feet where America stands
Your feet
     varicose washer woman, thick-soled waitress trying to make a buck
Your feet
     painted toed models on magazine pages feeding my fantasies
Your feet
     resting, “cooling the dogs,” the postman sitting in a mailbox, his key chain umbilical cord to the cover
Your feet
     uncut toenail lovers thrashing
Your feet
     kicking & stomping thick leathersides, sweat soaks the socks like shirt beneath the arm pits
Your feet
     pounding rhythmically, dancing on asphalt starting shock waves beneath the ground, shuddering the Earth off its axis
Your feet
     in platform shoes beneath hardly anything, syncopated spinning spangled breasts flickering red & blue lights, no one watches
Your feet
     collapsed in stitchless wingtips wandering streets trying to find that one button on a grim overcoat
Your feet
     in future shoes displayed in a shop window, the fetishist stops his sweeping to stare, strokes the broom handle
Your feet
     as Gully Jimson’s models as big as a wall, as grand as Africa, as pink as virgins
Your feet
     wafting musty warm perfume speaking of feral warmth, the walker’s incense stretched before a fire, fragrant offering upon sidewalk, floor, & Moon