I kicked off

–the ball?

–the New Year?

–the constraints of the masses?

(my shoes)

just for

–coal walking?

–footsie?

–trying on trainers?

(a minute)

growing more

–callused?

–callous?

–carefree?

(anxious)

in this barefoot state which is oxymoronic, dontcha think but the shards of glass

–heel?

–eyeball?

–champagne flutes?

(house)

quite surrounded me, interspersed with sizable

–potholes?

–dustbunnies?

–insurance premiums?

(stones)

which made for rough going, yet seemed appropriate, since the shoes I kicked off were

–flip flops?

–waffle stompers?

–made for walking?

(Mary Janes)

and though I’ve looked for them

–high and low?

–lately?

–on sale?

(everywhere)

one’s gone missing, and wouldn’t you know it was

–the left one?

–my own fault?

–at an amputee convention?

(the Merry one)

that I can no longer find.

I’m well

red,

white-bread

and blue spoken,

broken bar,

striped star–

–Yank

I

Doodle

notions.

America,

I’m beautiful,

my feet defining me.

in verse

and glare.

of rockets, there

barely missing me.

.Break ups suck.

lending lie to a

lifetime of memories. . .

stripping them

of meaning
 

–the polar

opposite of erotically–

new definitions

large and in charge

barge in. . .

all slap and no tickle

sweetheart

♥

becomes asshole

*

or closer
to it

–along with the realization that

no∙one

is different than

no∙thing

~despite previous disconnect~
 

that nicknames

dissolve

~private jokes need at least one audience member~

and

containers showcase

different contents

–the face of continuity

broken.

I sent my Spanks and

Wonderbra

without me to the gym class,

those ass and tits

refused to quit

and pocketed my gym pass. . .

rhinoplasty

solved that nasty

horny tendency,

a well-trimmed schnauz

is sexy cause

it’s poachless presently. . .

except of course

if face is horse

like–best to keep the horn,

dye mane pink

so folks will think

that you’re a unicorn. . .

nip and tuck

and lipo-suck

to render rest fat-free,

slap-on spackle

helps you battle

cracks in filigree. . .

corset and

girdle

final hurdle

to tune those toneless cheeks,

remember duty

as “natural” beauty

pressure profile sleek.

the ocean and

the shore

have this

relationship.

 
hot and cold

and vice versa

–the one purely context

for the other

~practically the world~

the water tips

its caps

(sparkling white, and who doesn’t like that?)

waves,

(high!)

(and advances

as the shore

shimmies shamelessly

in nothing but an apron

–rolling back tide

to show the world its reef

(as it beckons)
 

but the water

puts up a wall at that

point

(and spits!)

several in fact, and as that first wall crashes on unguarded sand

that packs a mean landing, nevertheless

there’s another

­and another

and another

ad infinitum

–that beach must break.

a bully

~fully~

understands

the tactics that are scary. . .

what menaced pace,

which “in your face”,

will keep its victim wary–

–and I should know

I’ve had such foes,

just 3

–but they were hairy

the first

was worst,

and I–accursed

encountered child often. . .

at school and play,

at dark of day,

she found new ways to mock, and–

–cruel she was,

I think, because

we had so much in common. . .

the second,

threatened,

~soul and skin~

she was a woman, grown. . .

a reckless beast,

that trampled peace,

of mind and body, both.

she haunted me,

like ghost, did she,

she could have been my clone.

the third

preferred,

the written word,

to taunt, since she was older. . .

meaner, leaner,

scripted schemer,

bitter–but not bolder…

all thorn, no rose,

she dogged my prose,

she copied over shoulder.

But hope,

was cope,

for tormentors,

to make them run and hide. . .

as was belief

in self-esteem

to leave them high and dry–

–and I should know

since treble’d foes,

were

me,

myself,

&

I.