turn at whole foods muse

a saturday morning commute,
when i see high performance
dick measurements
dancing across deep potholes
in our weekend downtown,
i realize that maybe my feet
say more on a quick walk
in broken-open slip-ons
than my hands do on virgin leather,
and that’s was my judgement,
and at a cracked bus stop
some authentic wait lonesome
for jesus christ and good luck
surrounded by windows mirrored,
exhaustion and new day;
who wears the pants and such anyway?
i think all this betwixt coffee sips
driving along the way,
i take it in over “ordinary world”
and think of Scorsese death
while our wet ball spins
(do i need a car wash to appeal?)
and his Porsche turns before me;
the shine blinds, maybe size small.

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