Los Holy Days

There are rocks in my shoes in Oakland
As feet kiss the sparkling airport thoroughfare
And wave to other feet walking miles and miles
In other people's smelly shoes
On their way to distant states and
States of mind
And strange countries or tribes
With old forms of magic
Invoked through precise and instinctive movements
Of feet and hands and eyes and lips
But especially feet.

One two three
                             Vun too tree
     Uno dos tres
Metronome in my mouth goes
Will eventually find shoe bottom
As all mouth metronomes do.
Sticky icky icky
But that's the rightful plight
Of the plodding sole.

In los montañas
Man's very best friend
Pads gleefully up and down and around and under and over and right fucking through
And is tracked everywhere by amiable pawprints.
Drooling beast,
Every day is Christmas and also Boxing Day for you.
Sparkling metamorphic rock greets your feet
In Marin and
                  Yosemite and
                                     Mount Diablo and

Day rises in the sky and we
          Ti  t
From h o r i z o n t a l plane to
And land on our feet,
Naked toes stretching and gripping the floor and
Trying to ground the dreams that have been
Flying through neurosphere unlimited uninhibited all night long, long night.
Wipe the sand from your eye and
Pull the ghostly vapors of the season
Into your thirsty lungs
And follow those bonny feet of yours because
They KNOW where to go.