You ever walked on muddy ground?
A moist crust of wet earth snotted up
and lashed upon by drunk clouds leaning
against the church walls of the horizon -

oddly desensitizing to the soul, no?
That dry husk that would rub and
scratch the underfoot replaced with a
mucky mattress, soft and grisly like

your first kiss. But where are your

The sodden belly of surface gristle
breathes in and you sink through
the sofa slats, a comfortable crash,
death by falling backwards into a
dark chocolate hallucination -

morose, meandering, a stream of
consciousness running through to
a small sun-tongued epiphany -

and what once was naked and
dirt caked is now socked and shoed,
the arch of your foot a heady grin
as you stand, hands-down,
at the top of a whim.