The sound of ten toes cracking

With their tires moving thru the rain
I won’t be the one who says you can
You know that your knife’s getting weak
Boy getting weak in your hands
To Beercan island with those old tires moving thru the rain
Into the parking lots of unsuspecting condos

sometimes running on the pavement to the beach
Where shiny new shoes and hammerhead sharks on wheels
wouldn’t dare past a swoop
but we would with our barefeet moving through
the white sand beach between our toes in the night 
Where dreams should have been glowing
there were other ones between our lips
Like little blue stars of the oceans living swirl
in the dark waves lapped the shore of everything was
In the night with our toes moving through the wet sand
We called it Russia like when we were all
over each other by the bonfire it was snow
between the trees growing up from it like a warm forest
where we joined fueled by whatever stars we could fit
in our packs and find by the fire lit
that night glowing galactic & jealous
Living liquid like the ocean into both of you
lapped up the shore glowing
Let’s leave this world tonight
 That aint right
         Yes it is
         Yes it is
         Yes it is

 ‘Cause honestly
I’d rather just wear my blue hoodie
& my underwear I’d rather just
          yes the glowing world tonight
                  sitting there smoking a blunt
             & having an orgasm
                                                      I’m one of
                                           the last poets
                                                ever to live



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8 thoughts on “The sound of ten toes cracking

  1. danielpaulmarshall

    i like the ridiculous hyperbole of
    I’m one of
    the last poets
    ever to live
    it reminds me of something but i can’t recall what, It has a manic egoism about it, but nevertheless a subjective truth.

    Reply

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