Wednesday, March 3, 2010


My feet speak
High, low, firm, hollow
corduroy checkered chucks, my little brother's
but I take his stuff all the time
so these shoes aren't different.
Three friends and a fourth are watching
Cat Stevens sing to Harold and Maude,
but I'm walking home.
It's one of those nights I want to get
some thinking done, but as I walk and
my feet speak I end up thinking about
thinking, wanting to work out shit or
imagine a sexy girl or anything, but I
just listen to the corduroy.

1 comment:

Scott Abbott said...

just listening, just listening.

good to be alone.

so hard to be alone.