My story concerns my feet and many other pairs of interesting things. I walked and pounded into the sidewalk the dust from exotic automobiles--perhaps skate wheel plastic slowly worn off with the improbable move of an ollie--the clack of useless grace and grin. I walked the streets of a tiny little hamlet thing, a tiny town, a tiny tiny town that still sprawls in its semidiversity. The trip of insatiated thirst, adventure disslaked, late Saturday evening with a new outlook on life, new clothes and nowhere to go. I danced in anticipation.
The night--I breathed on her softly. I sparkled my tiny eyes at her from above, and encased her in my enveloping darkness. I wanted to scare her into loving; the orange of streetlight tried to protect her in a wanton gesture. Lurid little beams, they are no diamonds.
The sidewalk echoed with the slight slap of sneakers and skittering stone sand glass. I knew the streets too well to be afraid. Tiny skylights in heavens smiled in a seemingly insidious way. I yelled at them. Boo.
The sidewalk--This is familiar. October warmth, gone all lovely and undulating, before the rigid fall scatteres leaves more across my face. I was glass-scarred, humming humming, maybe the next day would bring me company. But--slap, slap, thump, thud! Plop. I felt familiar weight upon me. Here it comes--and there it went. That footfall hath not been here in forever. Well, not since August. And now I have echoes to keep me company until the schoolchildren's' tiny pads--
I tripped over my shoelace, finding myself at my knees. My palms slid around on the sidewalk, making friends with rough obsidian edges and tiny gravel. My skin? Red and welted. My knees? Slightly bruised. The shoelace looked innocent, if a little dirtier. While I knelt to tie the shoe, a car came along with intentions of proving the Doppler effect.
The headlight--I play over everything and I am the lover of all. I touch what others shouldn't. I illuminate in mystery or in demystification--I have power over lives and over intelligence. I saw the rabbit, I saw the treacherous curve, and I saw the bottom of the lake. Now, I see the lamppost, the berserk green of extended summer grass, browns and yellows of plants and curbs, gray pavement, a ceaseless stripe opening to the planar universe. To the side--another human--struck temporarily blind. In her eyes I saw everything. And I took her too.
I wished people wouldn't have their brights on all the time. My jeans jailed new dirt as my hands slapped them in a cleansing motion. A painful knot now tied that shoelace to the other. I stood up, listening to the air hum. Humming. It was everything. Noises and shadows spoke like little sparklers and electrified the aural canal. I was hypnotized by the sweet air. Too many cars and breezes and hints of an accidental summer. It should be the end of May, and not the beginning of October.
The night--She is in love. She is in love with the end of the world, and spring also, the secretness I give, and the light which kills me.
The sidewalk--She is familiar and sad. Why can't she stop? She could walk on me forever, I need a little forever other than the seasons and the dust between my toes.
The headlight--And she was mine once--both eyes, both arms, both legs, both shoelaces, the cuts on the palms, the dirty jeans, and that precious, miffed look before she was drunk on nocturne--mine.
I listened longer, longer, longer. I spun in circles with both arms flinging about and opened my mouth. Everything strained, and heard this.