little oxford shoes

his black and white wrists were studded
with the Edinburgh liqueur,
his mum would try delouse him every morning I
tell you it was a wonder, to see him walking one meek leg
and then the other he craved for
the HAZARDOUS TIME right at the edge his
little oxford shoes,
sweetly sinking in the puddles sometimes
there is no way back home nor home
but a mildly exciting place for the numbness to be privy he would
live here and there do this and do that talk to
usandto them and his
lil' oxford shoes
sweetly trampling and crusing his first drag he
would say the coughing came out from the worst howling winds
I believed him for he was HOLY,
and the noisome and musty cigarette ends they would play on
the cobblestone pavement his ramshackle ideas his noontide saliva his cinnamon freckles
would cover my dreaming and while feeling hazy
up and down I would hear  his steps in the morning I tell you,
it was a wonder, seeing him moving and burning the soles
of his oxfordlike shoes, bitting his coal nail tips looking
for a three tongue three way kiss in a nook
at the playground I tell you,
it was a wonder.



© Text: VICTORIA BARDOT, all rights reserved.
© Image: source unknown