Warming up, round 2

Rock-salt digs between my toes

How’d it get there?

Nobody knows!

It’s no grand secret

It’s just a bland truth,

Not worth hearing

Let alone telling

But here goes…

The answer is:

My boots leak

More than that, they feel every breeze

These boots weren’t made for walking

They were made for working

And I have worked them like dirt

So now, they are more

Hole than

Sole

I should buy new ones,

To coddle my tender feet

I should by new ones,

Yes

With bold treads

To replace these frictionless hazards I now wear

Dear God

These boots stink

And what’s more, they stink

Trudging through icy dogshit’ll do that, I suppose

Shame on me for tracking it indoors

But who will rub my nose in it?

Must I do everything myself?

No time for guilt-mongering

There’s gonna be a party here in a couple hours

But this building is colder than a polar bear’s asshole

Better light a fire

I’m going to singe that polar bear’s ass-fur

And I’m going to melt all glaciers

I will cauterize every penguin’s frigid cloaca

Then I will put my feet in the fire

And wonder

Why can’t I warm the fuck up

I am nothing… and still I miss you

I wiggle my toes

I see they are pink

And I feel that they hurt

But that’s a good thing, folks say

Pain is better than nothing,

When it comes to the nerves

It means the tissue is still alive

…

They say the same thing about the heart

That it’s better to ache than it is to go numb

But I don’t believe them

And sometimes I realize

They can’t possibly

Believe themselves

…

… And then

I question…

Why am I more

Hole than

Soul?