Girl is walking around in no shoes,
her feet are pink and soft at the heel and
those delicate pink varnished toes
spring up with the bite of gravel.
Girl catwalks the center line wearing no clothes.
Her arms reach for the waxing moon
and the air as black and empty as space.
In turn, both kiss her face,
but she is blowing away under the current of the dawn.
The steam and the cryptic veil of
thick and frozen morning air
are her chariot.
She will ride this buttery dew cloud
to a better 400 square foot apartment
with a safer rusty lock and
more nutritious whole grain food bank spoils.
She will tar her heels,
and she won’t put a robe on,
she’s gonna walk that yellow line
until the cars begin to choke out their exhaust
and the friendly neighbors politely ignore her
as they go about their days.
She’ll take cover beneath a cottonwood and never ever wake.