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God must have braces
since our smiling shines
through all things metallic-
the sparkle of fish sides,
reflections of mirrors,
sunlight jumping off of still water,
discarded cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon
near the birds and muted city,
invisible behind the
trees.
I took off my shoes today.
My skin is bright white;
save some forest of hairs
black on pink and blue
standing on cool green
clover and dandelions.
If in all of this there was
supposed to be some free fall-
if my identity was intended
to connect to my feet,
if only to send it reeling,
it failed: I look at my feet
as if they are strangers.
They are- my shoes,
constant presence, suffocating
the wary calluses of my soles,
these shoes- (green leather)
more familiar than my own toenails.
I may as well have hooves.
Where does my brain connect
to my own body? I have this deep
friendship with my eyes, and mouth
as if my face was my whole body
but some days, my legs- when I am
least ashamed of my configuration,
I can put my hands on my legs
and feel the muscles used to walk,
but even legs are distant cousins;
always around and always supportive
but never really connected.
Even my hands seem useless.
They type- and the rest of what I do
has nothing to do with them,
pretending to have evolved past
any need for thumbs. They test water
but they do not savor it; I feel like
I am making poor use of all these
extremities, blocking off some list
of sensation, whereas I am blessed
with every inch of skin capable
of any number of possibilities.
Saddest still: My hair is always
sleeping.
Rise and Stand! Goosebumps are
the measuring stick for the
fulfillment
of your sensual potential; and me,
nothing- dead and tired, sleeping
hairs
on soft pink white pillows of dying
cells.
My feet, I deny them: Do not
jump in puddles; legs, do not run,
hands, ignore the beach sand,
stay away from the cat, keep
to your selves and my pockets.
I have no idea what to do
with this thing between my legs,
either; which may explain
why I am a feminist.
But all this is adding up. My
whole mind stuck at the top of
all this flesh, nowhere else
to be found, and I am floating
far above the ground with no idea
of how, or why. My mind lives
in an imaginary body- projecting
actions and movements which
will never take place; dreaming
of locations my feet could take me
or ideas my hands could build;
while they sit still and rot,
like all bodies are rotting.
All this metal clanging chorus
for God, and I am lost to the glow
of pale skin under the sun,
of my hand outside the car window
gliding up and down like birds.
My feet are not laughing
enough to turn silver. It's time
to start moving, and quickly,
so fast I outrun my thinking
of where I would go or what
I am leaving- to just run,
like a zebra runs, like a dog runs
in the sunlit days of summer
in circles, in circles, leaping!
Like so many wind up toys
aluminum spirits rising
backflipping, crash landers!
God is afoot! God is a foot!
And in me, in me, in me-
the spirit of the ages,
the confirmation of the glory
of being in what this whole
shit
is, whatever it is, let it come
and get me out of this mind.
-e.
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- Re: [X] Poem For Feet and Disconnect Eryk Salvaggio
