Ground that I walk on isn’t there. I don’t feel it. It might as well be air. Ground is so grounded. It has nothing to do with me. Firm, yet kind and gentle, it holds all of my ignorancy. I don’t do it on purpose, although, I admit, I got used to it. Not to know the ground is the only way I know. But, something tells me, (feet know it, and time will show) my way is on this ground, too. I will like a tree grow. **************** FEET Intro: For fucking’s fun, find a foreplay of fantastic fit for your feet. Big Time, like a Big Toe meeting a balerina’s ass: “Good day to you, M’am, hope you hold on tight.” Feet, soles, heel, toes souls of your body stepping stones for your dance. Feet need to be felt. They want attention, and they take on heavy loads to accomplish that. Being farthest from the head, they feel most neglected. And least connected. Especially with the ground. |
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