An Ode To My Boots

by dbdevilliers

I stand
upon the shell of the living world
and I am young
there are thousands of miles of molten
heat beneath my feet
and above the cold
deep beyond all reckoning
interspersed every hundred billion years every trillion trillion miles with little
specks with big names
arcturus or
andromeda—
they are old
and there are little specks with little names
like Dustin
I am young.

I wonder why I write about death so much.
I wonder why I think about it so much.
I posed this question and a good friend of mine
suggested I write about my boots
and I said, I do love them
I’m going to do that:

they are sturdy and well-cared-for
they were expensive and they were worth it
when the sun comes around I plan to wear them up mountains
and my summitted view will be augmented one inch
vertically by virtue of their heels

good things are worth caring for
good things are worth nurturing

I will look from
four thousand
miles above the
living core of
the living world the
light will cross my
eyes my brain will
produce neuro-
transmitters I will
know why
I even bothered

I will know why
I already know why
how couldn’t I

in my heart I always knew

yeah I’ll talk to death again for a second:
fuck
you.