Draped over my shoulders
is a rug I left outside.
Covered in piss, girls, and other annoyances
I carry this rug always.
Between this rug
and the holes in my heels
I don't know how much further I can go.
It's 29 miles
to the nearest GO
and I'll tell ya
I could sure use those 200 bones
but ever since the surgery
it seems like such a beating.
The surgery?
Elective, sure.
But it doesn't quite sink in
until you see your springs shriveled on a table
and gaping voids
in your feet.
My tongue is as gray as ever, I say.
29 miles to go....
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