Feet twist.
Shoes, hover over head and slam the pavement
all
around.
Music plays.
Sweating in the summer heat, these bastards swagger down the street in big brown shoes,
they smell like humans and leather and
dream in acrylic smeared from horizon to horizon,
from planet to planet,
with paint thick as frosting, they paint a sky and sea and city streets
whose ancient red bricks still show signs of toothpaste campaigns
that no one can remember.
Here, eyes fill windshields, engines pump rhythm.
cigarettes and ashes stretch across the glass table in a sloppy wet leap.
And bumper car hoods bounce, sewing machines chew on polyester,
whistles, squeaks, whines and chirps
all the lighter colors,
the heavy brush does deep brown.
